Who is she?"And, thank God, she stops. She's still holding me above her head, one hand grabbing the front neckline of my jumpsuit, one holding my crot...h.She shakes me a bit and says, "Well? Who are you?"I gasp out, "Can ya put me down? It's kinda hard ta talk like this."Blondie says, "If you try anything, you'll regret it," and she carefully puts me down, feet first."Ah'm called Rogue. Where am I?"I look around as I talk. Blondie is bleeding a little from scratches on her back and arms, but she. We hadn't talked together much beyond pleasantries. She asked and I wasn't busy with anything else so I said I'd go with her.Irene was not a young woman, the lines in her face proudly announced to the world that she'd 'seen the elephant'. She dyed her hair a horrible shade of red and wore clothes that would have looked better on a girl closer to my age.Irene was dying of AIDS, and she was scared something awful. She'd been brought up in Boston to be a good Catholic girl, and it was expected. More

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