While I dug around my brain, trying to think of who I should introduce next, this one excited me the most. She's a simple and rather quick, but sad story.
Her name was Chastity Cash. I couldn't believe it myself, but such was her name. I loved her at first. She was much like me: spunky, full of life, and a great smile, but at least 10 years older. Sometimes we would just hang out in the parking lot, as many dwellers did, maybe imbibing one of Monique's whiskey and coke cocktails. And sometimes we would walk down the street to the little shop together.
I never would have guessed that she was a train wreck still waiting to happen. But apparently she was. What I found the most odd about her, was that I used to look at her and think to myself, "she could be pretty and very attractive, but someone needs to teach that girl how to dress." But, there is no kind way I could think of, how one could inform a person that they needed a makeover. But, I was certain that if she had one, she would be surprised at the attention she could get.
She used to dress in what seemed like oversized, hand-me-down, men's clothes. The baggy sweaters and you couldn't see that she had a waist. The faded black jeans, and you couldn't even see her legs properly. It was constantly on my mind, how I was going to break it to her.
At the time she worked for a used car sales company and she even gave me her card one day, when she was proud of having been promoted.
Then, one day it happened. She was suddenly wearing proper girl clothes. But I thought she had gone to a bit of an extreme in that respect. She couldn't wait to tell me that she could now afford to pay her rent properly. She was now a stripper at a bar. In retrospect, I wonder if it was Devil's Point. My neighbors used to actually attempt to persuade me to work there in the most insulting way ever: they'll hire anyone.
Chastity was happier, and like many of my neighbors, would ask for a ride somewhere from time to time. I didn't mind, most of the time.
Eventually, she was making enough money to afford to rent a house, so she moved. She visited once or twice and that was it. I never saw her again. She was simply an anecdote in my little book of funny stories.
Then one day I received a very firm knock on my door. When I opened it, I discovered police officers there.
"Miss Cash?" one of them asked.
I said, "Excuse me? What can I do for you?" I told them my name.
They said they were looking for a miss Chastity Cash.
I said, "Oh! I remember her. You see, she used to live in apartment #4 on the other side. It's a different address." I told them that she had moved into a house, but I had no idea where.