Poised and posed caressing her fro of curls, dwelled in the overhead whispers of, "Is she a model?" She's a figure 8 without ice skates, shaped like a Coke bottle.  She's about 23 with 'death' stamped on her medical history, the tall dark man watches her from across the bar and assumes to un-clue her mysteries. Talks for an hour and she's not taken by his charm, she stalks and lurks in her demented thoughts...it's his type she sets out to harm. She uses her pink matter as a weapon, though men don't realize it's disguise. She follows him home and nails his coffin, her sick intentions burn deep into his eyes. He thinks it's seduction, passion, and is deep love to go raw on the first day, but his life from now on is a ticking time bomb....because she never mentioned that she has full blown A.I.D.S.