I remember going with Nan to the Nitery, a strip club in Chattanooga. A woman on amateur night, a waitress, got up out of the audience and did something with a man's glasses, passing them through her and then giving them back to the owner. My friend, who once was wild, couldn't that. My friend who once picked up in bars and swam with them in the Chattahoochee just before it broke. She gave up being wild, always trying to contain it, put a lid on it, stifle it, say it was someone else, some other The "Three Faces of Eve" kind of thing; and I'd tell her, the soul of sanity, she didn't need that explanation, was enough. She always wanted to be interesting but always to the wrong people. Dead people, people with formulas for brains. Heartless people she tried to breathe life into. In and out of hospitals where she was always the most normal person there.