Perhaps I should also mention Harry's Wholefoods. I actually know him- Harry I mean. I was in a really tight spot about six months ago. I came into Harry's looking to score free samples, and I guess just to check out all the wonderful fresh produce and organic snack mixes, among other things, that I had been unable to afford for more than a year. It was a bad idea. I walked in and was mesmerized. My mouth couldn't stop watering. Fresh orange juice. Vegan chocolate chip cookies. Sundried tomato and basil bread with garlic. Spicy black chai tea. Organic mangos. My god. I could've cried. Harry was stacking tofu and spicy hummus. I was eyeing the spicy hummus.     "Good evening," he said nodding toward me.     "Good evening," I repeated. "Nice spicy hummus you got there."     You know how some thoughts just come out awkwardly? Yes, well…     "You wouldn't happen to need work?" he replied.     To be honest, I was a little surprised. Did I look that hungry? Or was he reading my mind? I'll never know for sure, but I have a feeling the chances are higher that is was the latter. Harry is just like that. I think its because he's been around for a while-he's got about nine different lives hidden in his sleeves. Spare aces like wise smiles.     Anyway, as I stood there unable to answer him immediately, he gave me this really amazing twinkle in his eyes. Like Santa Claus. I liked him instantly.     It was because of Harry and his wholefoods store that I was able to move out of my car, cancel my car insurance, and take over an old blue cruiser that was left by earlier tenants. It even had a gear protector and a great bucket seat. I wanted to find streamers for it. I called it Sally. I took Sally when I went to work, when I picked up fresh produce during Farmer's Market downtown or caught foreign flicks at the Madame Butterfly's. I took her everywhere. And I can honestly say that I was quite happy in my attic "studio" apartment, with my pottery wheel and great one to nine job four days a week, biking around with Sally… Until Haze.

*

I can't quite remember when I found the third poem… I think it was under the lunch bench in the back of Harry's. What I can remember asking, suspiciously, is why did I keep running into these little written prayers?

There were days when Haze would arrive looking much different-more deflated. Maybe disappointed is a better word to use. Imagine biting into a perfect, genetically modified, green apple. All shiny on the outside, but it tastes like cardboard. And there's a big nasty bruise hiding from beneath the skin. Haze had days like that-of dirty T-shirts, the same scruffy beanie, her face a constant headache. She would rub her temples or her eyes, run her hands through her hair when she was on break. Her posture sank into something defeated and beaten. Shadows lifted from her face, beneath her eyes especially, as if sobriety left her bruises. Lost of that artificial glow, I enjoyed her more on these days, despite the raw wound she seemed to carry around her, so exposed. I think I perceived her as being more beautiful because she seemed more real, even if the act of being real brought out an intensity about her that disturbed her.

Continued....

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