the air is still, it's five o'clocknwet streamers on red wallsnthe rugs are thick with dampened ashesnas the morning fallsnna plastered laugh shrieks, echoingncross-faded with a tortured snorenconcluding groans of desperate sexnfrom every bolted doornnone more glass of luke-warm winenand one more fancy cigarettenshe wraps a sheet around her waistnthis evening is not finished yetnneveryone on valentine's ngot drunk enough to kiss herntonight she will be satisfied nwith something if it kills hernnshe executes through broken glass na vomit dodging dancenthrough slips of papers, names and numbers nscrawled in drunken handsnnsliding down the sticky stairwaynlucky cinderella's heirnand somebody should notice hernsome passed out prince beneath a chairnneveryone on valentine's ngot drunk enough to kiss herntonight she will be satisfied nwith something if it kills hernnbut nothing's left except the stenchnand bottles in the hallnshe hangs the streamers up againnturns on the disco ballnnand sitting there till daynwith all the patience in the worldnshe swears she won't get up untilnshe feels like she's a real live college girl