She fell in love with the bad boy, the rebel, the man-child who rode a motorcycle when she was fifteen. A girl-woman with curves, attitude, confidence. They met over fake ID's and screwdrivers. "ANOTHER ROUND!", and slut dancing to music made for listening. She wrote poetry and read it in her fading voice, husky and raw from overuse. Her job revolved around "And will that be all?" as if she craved money. Their money, always wantingwanting and never getting, never having it be real. he held her hand in the movie theater, held her close when she cried. such a nice boy.

She fell in love, and learned how to dream.