while she was well versed in the ability to make polite conversation, and could do so with grace and charm,
inside she was chanting :
"i wish you would shut up".

as soon as she could make her escape, she ditched her heels and the choker around her neck. she stepped into her flip flops and her old hippie skirt.

she hit the streets in search of anything raw and real and souful.

it was around the very next corner she saw him.
the one they crossed the street to avoid ~
writing him off as some strange and scary beggar.

she sat down beside him
and he sang to her.

and they talked about god and the hurricane and art and pain and humanity and that sweet smell of jasmine that was thick in the air.

he was her kind of people.
and that was the most elegant event she had attended all week.