...standing on wobbling legs in the middle of Chinatown in the middle of the night with Obsidian. A group of poet friends of ours had shuffled off to a nearby bar, leaving Obsidian and myself to deal with the Amazonian Australian. She was tall, broad and rugged looking with a heavy Aussie accent. The most distinctive thing about her was her long, dark, full tresses. Her hair fell, crashing to her shoulders like a black, heavy curtain...and she was in full crank.
Fuck it. I was home.