How many times had she rescued it? She'd lost count. It seemed that every year since she'd gotten it, it had dwindled down to nothing and she'd had to give it a serious haircut to get it going again. It would, almost overnight, grow lush and full only to start dwindling and drooping again with no warning. How often she had looked at it, remembering, or drawing comfort from its upright eager vines that never seemed to quit. Poor Charlie, she thought. How many more times can I hack away at you like this and expect you to live? The place was peopled by extras from "Hells Angels on Wheels" and every bad prison movie ever made. This woman kept bumping into me. She was medium height, slender, had long brown hair and three teeth. Her face looked a little like it had caught fire and some caring person had tried to put it out with an ax. Every time we collided I apologized nervously and she walked away. From behind she could have been Miss America. I swear.

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