I originally wrote this piece in 1996 when I was still in the midst of grieving the loss of my daughter Elana.

You still made me feel cheap, even in that 700 dollar suit. Your voice and its wool chafe rubbed me raw.

A sordid tale of a prostitute and an addict who live on the other side of the American Dream.

When I was in 9th grade my English class was assigned a short story to complete by the end of the week