“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, honey, but I came to the Haight to see the old neighborhood and visit an old friend”
San Francisco’s summer sun struggled with the dust on the bedroom window, but a few determined rays managed to break through and pat Marjorie on the cheek. She shook herself awake, trying to remember where she was. There was a strange haze in this half-lit room: smoke from cigarettes and sputtering candles, a trace of lavender incense combined with the smell of dirty dishes and sweat.
Marjorie sat up and looked at the other cots in the room. Yes! There was Chrissie lying directly on a mattress, no sheet or blanket or even a pillow, snoring lightly. A second girl was huddled on the other bed, asleep fully clothed.
Marjorie looked down at her crumpled T-shirt and stained pants. She’d worn them, awake and sleeping, for the past two days (or was it three; hard to remember after all those hours in the car). She couldn’t wait to go out and buy some new cool peasant dresses and flowery cotton tops and maybe some groovy love beads.
With what, Marge? Or have you forgotten? You’re dead broke.
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