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Poetry and short story chapbook.
I stopped smoking when Breda died. I remember her distinctly clutching her chest—a tight grab which crumpled the red flower on her shirt, the half burned camel twitching along the gaps of her nimble fingers. I just realized that she was really skinny; the clothes she stole from my closet were always slipping off her shoulders which Cooper probably never missed. Her eyes were rolling backward, but we laughed like we always did when she mimicked (quite horribly, but we were supposed to be good friends) Sister Cara's dramatic scene. We thought it was all a play and she looked at us with eyes quite empty and, I guess, scared...."