I spent most of my childhood in near poverty, wearing scraggly underwear and fraying bras held together with safety pins or paper clips, so now I insist on wearing only the truly elegant stuff.

“Burn, bra, burn,” I whispered, as the golden light of morning illuminated me to myself. “Burn, thong, burn.”

I studied the man sprawled next to me under my white sheets and white comforter, amidst my white pillows. He was muscled, tanned, had a thick head of longish black hair, and needed a shave.

He had been quite kind.

I would use the lighter with the red handle!

I envisioned the flame crawling its way over each cup like a fire – serpent, crinkling my thong and turning the crotch black and crusty.

Lovely.

I stretched, pushed my skinny brown braids out of my face, fumbled under the bed, and found my bottle of Kahlua.

I swigged a few swallows as rain splattered on the windows, then walked naked across the wood floor of my loft to peer out. The other boxy buildings and sleek skyscrapers here in downtown Portland were blurry, wet masses of steel and glass.

I have been told that the people in the corporate buildings across the way can see me when I open my window and lean out, and that this causes a tremendous ruckus when I’m nude, but I can’t bring myself to give a rip. It’s my window, my air, my insanity.

My madness.

Besides, after that pink letter arrived yesterday, I needed to breathe. It made me think of my past, which I wanted to avoid, and it made me think of my future, which I also wanted to avoid.

I opened the window, leaned way out, and closed my eyes as the rain twisted through my braids, trickling in tiny rivulets over the beads at the ends, then my shoulders and boobs.

“Naked I am,” I informed myself. “Naked and partly semi sane.”

I did not want to do what that letter told me to do.

No, it was not possible.

I stretched my arms way out as if I were hugging the rain, the Kahlua bottle dangling, and studied myself. I had an upright rack, a skinny waist, and a belly button ring.

When I was drenched, I smiled and waved with both hands, hoping the busy buzzing boring worker bees in the office buildings were getting their kicks and jollies. They needed kicks and jollies.

“Your minds are dying! Your souls are decaying! Get out of there!” I brought the Kahlua bottle to my mouth, then shouted, “Free yourself! Free yourself!”