What can YOU say in six sentences?
Under all that rouge and periwinkle liner, she looked like a half-baked Tutankhamen. She stitched her hair like a hermit thrush nest, all swaddled in sweaty knots, with skin more sallow than a shammy. She waded up the vinyl row, slinging hash and griddled beef. Hot lounge light did little for her dimming twinkle. The weekend band didn’t pinch her ass no more—but that was okay by her. Least I’m workin’ nights, she thought, I’m prettier in the dark.