Low Desert

I'm such a nice guy. Seeing these women in their desperations just makes me want to make it all right. Maybe this is part of my therapy, to do what I can for these women as long as I can.

My first project is simple, Deanna.

She'd been spending a lot of time panhandling for change... unlike me, she can't get a job, to get money. She can't even get time on the guitar, because either Jen or Leslie is usually plucking away at it.

But how to help her? I can't give her money, and she's too heavily medicated to leave the facility. What can I do? I know! I'll try to give her something else to want!

Me, for instance!

Maybe if she falls in love with me, I'll have other ways to boost her out of her breakdowns. Granted, it isn't easy, because she seems to have a really deep fear of fire. Anne keeps overestimating her cooking skill, and the stove caught fire... again. This, along with making us all smell less than divine, tends to leave a twisted pile of Deanna-wreckage on the floor. Somehow, she always manages to pull herself upright (though why she occasionally sounds like a chimp in the process eludes me), but it's hard for me to watch. I asked her;

"Deanna, the walls are stone in this place. You were in the rec room, safe. The fire would not have reached you. Why did you rush TOWARDS the fire if you're so terrified of it?"

She looked me in the eye, smiled and said "I'm not here because I tend to make rational decisions in a time of crisis. Now, kiss me, you fool. The double bed is free."