Sir, please: look at the pretty girl back there. Her hand's raised.

You know the one; she's always having a good time                         with friends.

But don't look at me. Don't even pretend to                                       like

me. Don't look at                                                                               these -

these strips of jagged red                                                                    who

glide across my arm. The pretty one                                                   needs

your help, so don't waste a glance at the ugly one whose worst          enemies

live in her mind.