Alcohol and Prostitution in The Garden of Eden: an Easter Story
Like some distressed inner city tortoise emerging from its shell, a head perched on a long thin neck rears up from under the coat. Hollow dark rimmed eyes stare back at me from the depths of a skull that has seen more than one too many traumas. A frail skeletal frame in skintight leggings that still manage to hang off a body whose muscle has long since wasted away. I remain at a slight distance in an attempt not to intimidate. I ask again