by Rachel Lynch in

There she was, sitting in the chair by the window. Smoking away, while singing in the blues in her leopard coat. White bodysuit and bones, she had such a nicotine spine. She fucked around, with words and wisdom. She didn't really care who she offended. It wasn't about being right, it was about being honest. Vulgarity in truth to yourself is a wild endeavor. She became  free from the confines of the deck of cards she was dealt as soon as she opened her mouth. Too much to talk about and nothing to say, the front page of the New York Times never really told the full story.