May 17, 2012

dontbesheep: For Amanda

Today, I had a conversation with a young woman that we’ll call “Amanda.” A conversation might be stretching it. Amanda made little sense in what she said and didn’t seem to hear–or at least respond–to much of what I said. She was mostly naked and stumbling down the sidewalk in downtown San Diego. She had scratches along her arms intermixed with sporadic, blurred tattoos. Her hair looked as if it had been cut with hedge trimmers. Her shirt looked as though she, or someone else, had torn it almost completely off. She wore a pair of shorts that were an inch away from being classified as underwear. She cried. She moaned. She spoke of having been killed, of being allergic to dirt and water, of Mother Mary, of being abused by horses, of being deaf and blind, of FBI conspiracies.

My latest contribution over at DBS.

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