I cannot recall my age when an angel began appearing to me. I named her j. Marie. In those days I named everything. Even the big, black, Dempsey Dumpsters who graciously allowed me to climb into their canavous bellies where I scrounged for any available morsels, those things still edible, having been carelessly tossed away by the grocery store, or at least that was my seven year old interpretation of how perfectly good food stuffs happened into the dumpsters .

My favorite dumpster, I named She She. She She hardly smelled at all, at least not as bad as the others. I imagined that she invited me inside her dwelling which is why she managed to always have old tires or wooden crates near for my seven year old bare feet to climb up high then sort of tumble into her. I pretended that it made her happy that I had noticed her and her abundant offerings. She She also offered refuge from the people I feared, of whom there were many. Which brings me back to j. Marie.