After dropping the switchblade, she ran. Out of the seedy bar, away from the jukebox music jumble of faces and smells; she kept running, barefoot and pregnant, scared to the bone. She ran past eight streetlights and underneath one graffiti-covered bridge to the bay, her heart racing; her thoughts racing even faster...what if? What if...? As the sweat trickled down between her breasts, a light rain began falling, mixing with sudden tears that were a combination of terror and joy. She had escaped. Collapsing next to an upside down lifeguard boat, she lifted her face up for the first time in a long, long time, letting the rain wash everything back into the sand, the slim stretch of her childhood beach. She heard a voice, "All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well," as she drifted off into unprotected sleep.