The tedious task of deciding what to wear. "Sneakers or heels? Tank Top or sweater? Skirt or jeans?" The clock was ticking loudly in her ears. Choosi...g to go for the casual look she decided on a black tank-top with black, skinny jeans. Chances were that she would end up without her clothing by the end of the night. That thought made her smile, as she applied her black eye-liner and deep-red lipstick. She walked out the door, just as the sunset made the sky a deep orange. She would arrive at. She did not feel guilt over Preston’s failures either. In their short marriage and within the scarred battleground of their South Orange home she had never experienced a cruelty so visceral as their marriage falling apart. Her devotion to Preston came first, above all things. Poetry came a distant second. As Preston became obsessed with his work, she grew scared of him, especially when he descended the creaky stairs to their second floor bedroom and made love to her, as though she were some. More

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