She would put on lipstick at midnight,
because her favorite show was on
and she always liked to look good when she was appreciating something
as if the novelty could be French-kissed unexpectedly.

Her lunches were always spent alone,
with a used book from an online vendor
and her throat would always close up when someone asked to join
as if they had interrupted her touching herself.

She had a self-designated seat on the public tram,
because slave laborers are always penny-pinchers
and she needed to close her eyes in order to see the light dance
as if she were a paradoxical vampire feeding off the sun.

You know, she was always forgetting the past,
never knowing how everyone else could remember so much
and she would roll around cold liquid in her mouth
as if life was too surreal to not look pensive.

She never understood what people did with their time.
She never understood how they could fit more pieces into their 8 by 4 plots.
She never understood how classical music could not move them to tears.