to women (except for the strippers and hookers) with compassion. Sinister, sleazy, dangerous, sexy, this world also teemed with dreams and desire, theatrics and even humor. Initially she watched. Later, she took notes. In time, the strippers and hookers, shemales and pimps, junkies and dealers recognized her. Some even trusted her. "What is love?" she asked them and learned enough to write in her poem "fantasy booth" the voice of the girl who dances (actually just gyrates) for men enclosed in booths for 15 seconds for a quarter: "I go up real/close, it's all about giving them/some & pulling back."
from The Villager: Eve Packer: Amid Gardens and Ghosts
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