Meeting Lalley

She hailed from the Door of Faith Mission. Her lips were lovely, and her hips were swish’n. We street bums followed her up and down the alley. She said with a sashay, “Just call me Lalley.” She did not give us a look or a wink. Unless we could offer her a chug of a drink. She preferred ale and black out beer. We could smell her perfume when she came near. Some made a mistake and asked her questions plenty. If you are looking for answers she said “I ain’t got any”. She was queen of the alley in just a few days. Cheap perfume came off her in a choke-tasting haze. We followed her up and down, helping her dumpster dive. She would say “Got to go now. Supper is at a quarter to five.” She was the classiest thing that Mission had ever seen. Some said she was a tease, but I thought that was mean. One day she stopped coming so I stopped to inquire. I described her and the head lady called me a liar. She had a daughter like that but she had been dead for years. The idea that she might return is now one of my fears.