She’s flashy, sparkly, yet also a bit rough around the edges. She’s the sort that gets you pretty excited when you see her at the nightclub under the dancing strobes. She’s also the sort that causes you to pound your head and rub your eyes a few times the next morning. She seems to be totally worth the expense until the ATM signals you can’t get a twenty for coffee and aspirin. Oh, the headache! Oh, the heartache!
Was it her game all along to bleed you dry? Or, is it possible that she’s as worn out and tired of running her game as we are of running ours?
We all have a way of dressing up our facade. We all have the ability to present as Manhattan even while we’re as parched as the desert.