Jane. Bang. - S.Of C.

No obligations one way or the other, then Jane thinks,

"No, I must do what I am most afraid of. 

Walk the path that makes me cower."

 Minimal Damage is all she can ask for. 

It began with a twenty Minute walk.

Across the street from The Film Forum.

"How bizarre." thinks Jane, then she crosses the street.

Bang! This is a work in progress.

Jane Construction. Restricted Access.

A friend called out from behind the desk "Remember the wink!" 

A gleefull, beautiful smile spread across her friends face.

"I'll try." 

Is all Jane could say as the door shut the door behind her.

Now she looks up and increased the volume on the hand held device.

She looks out on the bustling traffic and faces of a nameless oblivion.
 Never the less, all caught in the same web.

Work in Progress.

"Bang" said the words on a screen.

Sultry positions, suggestive to "Jane", she will interpret it in another manner.

Too many strings said the sign of promise.

What will she say?

Not much.

 How could she explain that she will have one year of abstinence in a week or so.?

How can she explain she has done it on her own?

It will be received with shock if she called out her life to Puritans. 

To fret? 

Good thing there are no puritans here. 

Puritans know the value of delayed gratification Jane was once told. 

Those here are her brethren, they had to be schooled and take great efforts to live out such a seemingly simple action.

 No no no.

Remember my little Jane, what you found written upon your thigh when you woke up alone on the subway sometime around three in the morning.

Scribbled across your bare flesh through your ripped up Jeans, it read

"I could have done anything I wanted to you"

Jane had looked around the train car, to find herself alone with no knowledge of when or why she was on the train. 

She then recalled Ella Wilcox. 

Laugh and the world will laugh with you Jane.

So she did. How could she not? 

Tragedy will come to a point where it circles back to comedy. Ask any theatre major. 

This is the truth of Jane. 

A part, a wee little piece, a string, a filament of the weaves of stories she tells of her existence.

No, she thinks as she looks around the room and straightens her spine.

She says to her self in her favorite tongue,

"Non, Je ne regrette rien." 

But it had began with a twenty minute walk in that direction.

Mary Catherine Cowardice Queen