The first time that she wore pink,

Nobody recognized her.

She was the tough girl,

The rough girl,

The badass, Do Not Touch Me girl.

The old man stared torpidly into the distance, his head held at an odd angle. Perhaps not really held so much as left there to hang. He didn’t appear to have the strength to hold it up. His body and face were sunken; the emaciation of the old, and his head could hold on to only a few stray hairs, whispy like cirrus clouds. Dolefully he stared, unmoved from where he had been abandoned by the nurse in his wheelchair.