.

Kimberly is 39, though looks much younger. Because of peripheral arterial disease, her feet are gone, one hand gone, the other with just a thumb and much nubbed down fingers. She's been homeless several times, this latest stint four months and counting. Doesn't like shelter because she can't drink there. Goes through a 3/4 liter bottle of Vodka a day, Laird's, which costs about 7 bucks a bottle. Used to drain half a gallon daily. "I'm doing pretty good," she said cheerfully. She has a remarkable spirit and laughs easily. "I see these businessmen walking by, and some of them look so miserable." Kimberly got married last September. Her man didn't drink, smoke or curse, but he beat her often. She left him with just a small backpack, then met a nice dude on the streets who treated her like a queen, she said, though he's in jail now, due to a "misunderstanding" by the police. "Did he mug somebody?" I aksed. She just smiled. Kimberly used to work in a tattoo shop, hence her well-inked bod. On her forehead, "WAR IN MY HEAD." I told her about my friend, Aziz, who had "MADE IN USA" on his. Aziz was born in Iran, then raised in England and Germany before coming to the States. Kimberly has also worked in a bar. When she moved in with a male co-worker, this guy removed the door to the bathroom. She told me about a touching lesbian relationship that was never quite consumated.

"You're kidding me?"

"I would tell you if it happened."

"But you were living together and sleeping in the same bed."

"Yeah, but nothing happened."

"You broke her heart," I uttered with feeling and a kind of backdating, surrogate regret.

A terrible joke surfaced. Lesbians, what do they do? Kimberly showed me a tattoo of a happy sperm shooting out of a monster. On her neck is the name of her 18-year-old son. He doesn't talk to her anymore. A good kid, he's preparing to become a missionary in China. When they were still in touch, she would buy him video games and give him 20 bucks at a time, the same amount she charged whores and tricks to use her tiny room for 10 minutes. She also sold crack.

Kimberly grew up at 6th and Allegheny, a fairly shitty neighborhood, like most in Philadelphia. Her last name is Rosado, but she's not a pure Boricua. Growing up hearing English and Spanish, she ignored the Spanish, blocked it out. "I didn't want to be treated like shit. Mierda!"

Before leaving, I rolled her to the liquor store, then gave her a hug when she urged, "Give me some sugar!"







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