lost in this , piers

[MARLEY SADIE-ANNE TAMERLANE]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,198px,bTable][bg=transparent] [/style][style=float: left; padding-right: 3px;] from sunrise to sunset, hours were spent not only lollygagging around but also in some midst of labor. standing behind a cash register and brushing a plastic tag over a scanning device became a more difficult job when you had an employee of your senior barking orders over your shoulder - an unappreciated talent of the bitch she had to call her boss. it wasn't quite a treasured title, or respected in the least to marley, but until she found the gumption to fill out applications again - she'd bite her tongue to keep back her returning spits. even after her shift, the woman's sour voice was still ringing in her head like the ghost of an echo. as she drove her beat-up vehicle home (the compact space equivalent to that of a closed anchovy can) the developing headache surged strongly with every rush of blood pumped from her little heart. after a trip to her bedroom and the opening of a secret drawer complete with a locking key, she cleansed herself of that problem. first, the tingling overlapped the foul sensation before finally, numbness set in and her pulse could be seen from behind her hazel occuli and every movement in her veins could be felt personally. this was a satisfying feeling; she could live consciously and feel as if she were only imagining herself sitting there, slouched on her bed, a pipe between her fingers and a lighter in the hand which propped herself up. as well as the silence -- with her brother gone for the moment, the quiet was lurking and much like luxury. despite how she welcomed being in a suburban area over the frequency of the city, she couldn't quite allow herself to sit still. dusk had settled in and sunlight no longer filtered in through her window past the blinds. as promised, she gathered her personal bag and tossed it over her shoulder, gaining her stance and slipping her feet into her shoes all in the same motion. it was only moments until once again, she drove her tiny little clown's car - a volkswagen bug modeled in the eighties - to the wealthier side of los angeles, where she attempted not to marvel at the large houses and instead tried to keep her eyes fixed on the road before her. a familiar home appeared on the right close to old railroad tracks and she pulled to the side, parking her car illegally there and exited to knock on the door. giving a toss to her bright locks, she did last-minute fixings of herself just after her knuckles beat the wood of the entrance, expecting a face to appear from behind the door in just seconds.