3:00 AM

She brushes the nail clippings into a small plastic bag. The brush is from an old makeup kit, though carefully cleaned to remove any residue that may contaminate her findings. Big-toenails in one bag. Each of the rest in separate bags as well. She slides on her stomach, eyes centimeters above the wooden floor, searching for anything she may have missed. One is missing, for certain. Right foot, pinkie-toe. There. Brushes the clipping into a bag. Seals the bag. Works her upright. Her face is purple, forehead shiny with perspiration.

At the door, she eases the curtain covering the window slightly to the side, peering from one end of the street to the other. Confident no one has seen her enter, no one is watching, she eases the door open, slips silently through the door, closes it just as quietly, and moves in a measured, rapid pace down the block. Behind her, still asleep on the couch near the area of collection, a man snores loudly. Each day he comes home drunk, 2:00 AM, and always leaves the door unlocked. She knows this. She's been here before.

4:30 AM

No one on the streets this early. Not usually. She and a prostitute walk the street. Cherry Bomb. Later the hooker's pimp will drive by slowly, first stopping to see how business is, then as he drives off, if Lilly's in the neighborhood, he'll taunt her with the usual "You get tired of that library pay, girl, you come and see me, a'ight?" He's never been to the library. He doesn't know why she's out, nor really cares. He can't read. She knows this. She's his sister.

Harvard's appearances only increase her pace, always bringing her to her apartment sooner than she plans. That's fine. Slink up the stairs, what's left of them, head bowed down just in case others in the world have awakened. Don't touch the rail. Keep the canvas bag gripped close to the abdomen. Keep the key extended. #209. Put the key in, turn firmly 3 times, enter. Stop for a moment and view the hallway through the peephole. Not followed. Not heard. No one cares. Close the door, lock the bottom lock (the top 2 are broken), turn it 3 times. Breathe.

5:00 AM

Too early for lights. Towel on the floor, runs along the bottom of the door, but still - wait. Rush (quietly) to the single window, aluminum foil covering every crack, listen. She runs her hand slowly over the covering. No air. Good. Set the bag down. She's still shaking. Rest first. Grinding of the steel top twisting. Open the flask. Drink. Yes, that's it. Calm the nerves. Bourbon. Relax the soul. Still the mind. Footsteps? Stop.

6:00AM

It's time to get to work. No water here. No bright lights. No candles. Everything must be kept cool. No furniture. There's no room for that. Slowly empty the contents of the canvas bag. A square part of the floor, the check-in spot.

        4 Dozen large plastic bags.
        1 Dozen medium plastic bags.
        3 Dozen small plastic bags.
        6 Glass vials.
        8 Plastic cups.


Arrange them nicely. Categories. Dates. Working with the books in the library keeps her mindful of organization. Lilly's happy there. Here, it's even more organized. She's so proud of her work.

First Bag

        3:00 AM. Tuesday 24, April 1992.
        Harry Brown, 1110 South Browning #122.

        3 Large plastic bags. (Handkerchief, socks, T-shirt)
        8 Small plastic bags. (Toenails, fingernails, back hair, pubic hair)
        1 Glass vial. (Blood)
        1 Plastic cup. (Urine)

Second Bag

        1:00 AM. Tuesday 24, April 1992.
        Corinth Woodeslow, 3460 East Brunswick.

        6 Large plastic bags. (Skirt, panties, stockings, tissues, blouse)
        11 Small plastic bags. (Toenails, fingernails, pluckings, pubic hair)
        3 Glass vials. (Blood, feces, menstrual fluid)
        2 Plastic cups. (Urine, vomit)

Lilly works fast. Tape and marker. Label and organize. Double-check the seals. Each in a huge zip-lock bag at her feet, 2 stuffed zip-lock bags. Clearly marked. Lilly stands, and adds them to her collection. Her archive. There are so many now. Each with their own number. Their own
special identifier. Lilly made it, the scheme. Even the library couldn't do better.

{Letter Code}-{Age, 0 if none}-{Sequential 6-Digit Number}
[e.g. HMA-44-166-673, Harvey Brown]
[e.g. HFC-12-166-675, Corinth Woodeslow]

Letter Codes:

       H = Human
       [M = Male, F = Female]
       [I = Infant, C = Child, A = Adult]

A = Animal
       [ = Cat, D = Dog, H = Horse]
       [ = Male, F = Female]

F = Furniture
       [C = Chair, T = Table]

D = Dining
       [P = Porcelain, S = Silver]

E = Edibles
       [C = Cake, T = Tea]

T = Toy
       [B = Bear]

Lilly stands back, all the way to the door, no room anywhere else. 166, 675 zip-lock bags. Every one of them representing a person, animal, or construct. She's so proud of her work. Wishes every day she could show someone. Share her work. But she can't. They wouldn't understand.

12:00 PM

The archive is vast, but by no means messy. No disarray. She's poor, yes, not even the pittance given by Harvard in his moments of emotional weakness are enough to cover everything. Resourceful. Trash cans reveal treasures, always. Every other bag here a different size. Dirt on every one. Half without the neat white tape. Black marker scrawled across the plastic. But neat. Mounds upon mounds of quiet organization. Obsessive patient array. The air squeezed out of every bag. Little living bricks.

Lunchtime. Time to get the invitations out. Closes her eyes. Done. Pokes about the expanse of the apartment. Begins to select.

        TB-0-034-110 (Truffles always joins us.)
        HMA-44-166-673 (Introduce the new addition.)
        HFA-31-077-981 (Ms. Chalmers misses us.)
        DP-0-000-001 (Porcelain for tea.)
        DS-0-000-020 (Silverware for cake.)
        FT-0-000-017 (Table for lunch.)
        FC-0-000-013 (Chairs for all.)
        EC-2-000-037 (Puss in Boots love cake.)
        EC-0-000-099 (We all love cake!)
        EC-0-000-022 (Hot tea to soften the cake.)

Enough for now.

Lilly drags the bags to the empty center of the floor. Curls up in a ball with the circle of them. Rocks back and forth. It will be a wonderful lunch today. Ties off the arm. Yesterday was all right, though not as nice as last week. Flicks the lighter on, heating the spoon. Ms. Chalmers will enjoy seeing us again. Especially after the fried chicken she had last time. Knows we always provide well. That was good. Slides the needle in. Heroin orgasm.

Lunchtime.

Harry Brown sits quietly in his chair. Ms. Chalmers, Betty, sits too. She's so clear. Radiant. Beautiful. Every detail shining like Hi-Def. Another chair filled too. Teddy bear. Truffles. Lilly loves Truffles. He's always available for lunch. No matter who else comes. No matter what's to eat. Regardless. What a gorgeous table! Silverware. Tea. Cake. Lilly's stomach grumbles. Eat! And Betty does. Smiles. She loves cake. Almost as much as she likes chicken. (EP-0-000-050, P = Poultry)

Harvey's not eating. Lilly frowns. Stares at him. Something is off. Fuzziness. Truffles beams. He loves tea. Betty glows. She begins a conversation with Puss in Boots about her trip to France. Harvey stares straight ahead. No food. No conversation. She knows. Another trip is needed. The bag's not complete. She left too early, she guesses. He had rolled over on the couch. Scared her. Usually, she gets all she needs on the first trip. Rarely needs more. Harvey's handsome. It will be worth the time.

Lunch is almost over. Betty smiles. Thanks for lunch, Lilly! Truffles grins. He doesn't speak, though. Lilly finishes her tea. Brushes her dreadlocks back. Harvey sits still. Next time, Lilly says, you won't be so shy. You'll have something to say. Tired. Betty's gone now. Truffles too. Coming down. Furniture disappearing piece by piece. Harvey's gone too. Sleepy. Hungry. Heroine slumber.

3:00 AM

This one's good. Stubs from a show. GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. Naughty. Bus pass. Menus, fast food. Lilly almost shrieks with pleasure. This is what she'd hoped for. Scraps. Beer. He'll eat well tomorrow. Perhaps he'll tell us all about the show. I wonder how it ends! A TV schedule. All in
separate bags. A scrap of cigarette ash too. What else? Maybe...

Lilly's head snaps back. Pain. So quiet usually, but now she's screaming, as loud as her lungs will allow. On her stomach now, face slamming against the floor over and over. Bloody nose, broken teeth. He's got her by her hair, thick ropey bundles in his clenched fists. Eyes glazed over in alcohol stupor. Alight with discovery.

"I got you now, you fucking thief! Something was bugging me about last night. Other nights too. Now I know what, thief! You think you can come here and steal from me? Everyone has to pay for what they take. You are going to fucking pay, believe me, bitch!"

Flips her over. Unbuckles his pants. She blinks through the blood. This is not the handsome Harvey from lunch. This is someone else. Lilly shuts her eyes. Sound of pants sliding down hairy legs. Lilly kicks blindly. Now he's screaming, wet from vomit splashing Lilly's legs where her
dress was up. Get up. Run. GET UP AND RUN!

The door to #122 flies open. A black woman, dirty, bloody, dazed, heavy wool coat over a black dress, dreadlocks - tears. She runs, screaming, weeping, wailing. And right on time, Harvard idling around the corner. Cherry Bomb already running from her spot towards Lilly. "Sugar, what's
wrong?" Everyone knows Lilly. #122. Doors rocking from the impetus of her exit. "What the fuck happened, Lil? What the hell did you get yourself into?" Harvey stumbles out, cussing, pants undone.

She doesn't look back. Cherry Bomb screams. Harvard shouting. "Are you out your fucking mind, chief? You trying to rape my sister, you fucking cracker? She's a retard, you fuck. You like to fuck retards?" More than that. She just shuts it out. Especially the click. POP POP POP. Blocks it out. Halfway down the block, she's already forgotten. Canvas bag close, tight against her abdomen. Lilly runs. Lilly runs...

12:00 PM

"So, Sugar 'n' Spices comes out, and I just couldn't believe how beautiful she was! Green eyes! Red hair. Her pubic hair shaved like bunny ears. Happy Easter!"

"Tell us more!" Lilly's laughing. Clapping. Mary Coolidge doesn't even blush. Betty would've, but not Mary. When Harvey gets to the part about the lap dance, though, Lilly thinks Truffles is blushing just a little.

The chicken is so good. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Lilly drinks soda. Harvey has beer. Mary sips her juice. Truffles doesn't drink. He doesn't speak either. It's a picnic, this time. Blanket. Wicker basket. "God, it's so beautiful this time of year!"

Pain. Human agony. "Where are you going?" They're worried. Mary caresses Lilly's dreadlocks from her face. "Hold on, baby. Lunch isn't over yet." God, Harvey's handsome. He holds her hand. He's going to tell her how the show ends. Overdose.

6:00 PM

#209. Yellow tape across the door.

"And then, just when I ready to simply leave him at the altar, he started to read me the most beautiful wedding vows. I'm sorry, I'm crying again! I have them here."

Crumpled paper seen through plastic.

Chalk outline.

Lilly smiles. Lilly cries. All her friends are here. It's lunch forever now, she figures. Everything she'd ever wanted in life here.

DP-0-000-001 all the way to FM-31-168-000.

"Tell me again about France, Betty!"

"OK, Lilly. Hold my hand. Let's walk for a bit."

As they slowly disappear into the distance, Lilly turns to wave at Truffles. He'll miss her. They all will.

FINI