She is a Single Mom Gambler, and I think she might be a Spun-Out Junkie Whore.
She keeps asking me if I’m going to kill her which is pretty endearing, because it shows me that she cares enough to die for me.
You can’t buy that at Wal-Mart so I take her shopping there, and we dance down the aisles sharing a set of ear-buds.
We buy batteries for her flashlight, and clothing for her daughter.
She keeps asking me what I want for what I give, and I keep telling her.
She lies to both of us, and says she can’t.
I get what I want as her growing tears, show the truth in our budding friendship.
I’m disturbed that she might die any day, but she teaches me how to live at the bottom with style.
I miss the danger in her steps as barely disguised wariness, mixing wildly with her flamboyant attire.
She is a gem in a sea of outcasts, so I think of her often wishing she would call, with lies for me again.
Thanks for the money, it brought me happiness when she smiled from it.
I’ve only given her about ten bucks for Gambling, the rest has gone into her get-away car.