Skin

Jack fell hard from a bottle of Flor de Cana, scraping his knees and hand, his shirt covered with street dirt and shit from the gutter. All trust and honesty stolen along with the credit cards and camera. Denny Blue holds a helping hand assiting Jack from inner turmoil, discrase and distrust from an origin so deep, so unfamiliar, a place as solitude as alcoholism a place as pillow soft as dream and warm as blood, where self is discovered alone. Jack wears a skin of someone else.