South of Nashville hazy thursday. last night I met a young lady, girl really. Angela Jade 25 and she earned every one. A walking talking billboard of fuck up. Bad art from head to toe. A large ring in her lower lip that she says she forgets is there. She likes Lynyrd Skynyrd. She has the names of her three children tat to back. She had her first when she was thirteen, Damon. her next, a girl, when she was fourteen. There is no man, never was. She has long thin scars. Everywhere. Yeah, a cutter, too. She keeps a journal now. Keeps her from the sharp. She smokes Newports. I dont smoke but i took a drag to tell her her lips were fine. clean. She's buyin an old trailer. Her drug infested mom lives with her as Grandma. Laughable, if not so damn sad. Angela Jade is somehow yet pretty. 4'10 Small features as if easier to hide. Hazel eyes that still know light n hope, but i worry. She says everything will be fine and I smile, lying, knowing better. And so it goes. Shamelessly, I took the pic of the one armed trucker. Not so, Angela Jade. She's not for our entertainment. She's just life fucked up.