She was a lost soul. Lost, in a very cinematic way. Her hair was bright red, like Julia Roberts, and
she wore fur-lined trench coats in the winter. She loved fireball whiskey, the kind of stuff that
burned my stomach. Her sense of humor was quick and matter-of-fact, and I longed to know
how she spit out the quips that she did. I must've been really cool to her; she adored all of my
nonsense, drunk or sober. Sometimes, we didn't know the difference.
