He gave me themusic and started. Another ballad, this one was slower, more like jazz,yet it felt as if it were very old, and new at the same time. I s...ngthat one twice, the second time I had it, and I knew it. The words spokeof love lost, desperation and poverty, none of which I had everexperienced, yet I felt it, and it came out that way. When I was donethe producer called mom and the woman into the studio, then replayed thesongs so they could hear them. As my voice filled the air, even I. I was in a hospital room, obviously. It was one of those single ones wherepeople with dreadful infectious diseases or enough money to bribe thesister went.As I had no money, my brain went into fifth gear and then overdrive.Perhaps I was infectious. I had heard of MRSA like everyone else. Maybe Icaught it somehow when I was admitted and they had to put me out of theway of healthy people so they didn't catch it. Perhaps I was on my lastlegs and Sheila was keeping it away from me, being all brave. More

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