Mr. Eliot

She screamed all the way to the barren city limits of inhabitable Indifference, reaching the desolate terminus which is apathy's village of mutant could- have- beens.Like the tormented woman of iniquity at Purgatory's sawdust restaurant window, hopelessly staring out onto the bombed, deserted street of despair, she'll languish in the eternal wasteland of devastating indecision never talking of Michelangelo again, nor smelling hyacinths. "Hurry up please.It's time."