Tuesday Night
Noise permeated the air in a way that made it impossible to hear your own thoughts. She sat at a table finishing a line of cocaine being swallowed by the discomfort of her own surroundings. A strange man began to play with her golden curls. His breath smelt of beer and cigarette smoke. He told her she was pretty as her eyes glared over at her table-dancing mother. She was ten, but here age mattered far less than how the age you wwere willing to act. Her face had become part of the atmosphere as well as every sunken bar on thsi side of town. Vision was blurry, everything a distortion of what it really was. This was her Tuesday night. It wouldn't be long before she bacame the shattered woman her mother was. The street corner whore. Just another lost soul not wanting to be found. Little Girl Lost.