It’s because these particular marks aren’t from when she knew me. They’re from surviving the hell I Peter Paned into. You do what you gotta do t... survive prison. Take what you gotta take. Give up what you gotta give up. And yea, you slice yourself up with jagged lines so the real monsters don’t think of you as the pussy street artist you really are. Think twice before making you their bitch. And then you start fighting like the world’s cracking apart and you wanna go out with blood on your. There are sorrowful goodbyes at the Centre. Jo, Corinne, Ylena, Jonathan, Charlotte and, best of all, Gerry are all there to see us off. But, just before I leave, there is one thing that reminds me that maybe things aren't over.As we're standing in the hall waiting to be taken back to London, Jo goes to the small table that stands on one side and opens the drawer. She takes out a small pistol shaped handpiece and points it at each of our arms in turn. "There," she says, "that's checked all of. More

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