Poor little girl. Here she is getting drunk and who should appear at her side but mister psychedelic himself. Good lord, this guy just won't quit. Oh... there he goes, off to the potty. At his age, I am surprised he has not had to go before now. Good riddance. And there sits the sweet child. Her hair is truly beautiful, the way each strawberry ringlet sways and sashays over her white shoulders. She could be a model.

What an extraordinary laugh. I have not a clue what she is laughing at, but something seems to have stuck her funny bone as she is hysterical. Poor drunk baby. She is just as lost as everyone else. Wonder how she is going to get home. Does not look as though she knows anyone here, but why should she. All of these people are here to show off their material assets. She is not one of us. Red belongs to some other world.

I wonder why she is staring at my hands. Fortunately I had the foresight to get that manicure done early. Not that it really matters. Her hand are quite beautiful without all of the pretense. Long slender fingers. She should play the piano. Good hands. Poor kid, she is fighting to keep a spot on that stool. I think it is time for her to go. I might as well make sure she gets home in one piece. She seems like a fragile flower in a wind storm. Someone has to rescue her. Might as well be me.

So here we are, sharing a cab, me and the bohemian. Not so bad. Could hardly get her address out of her though. Too many olives maybe. We have made arrangements to meet tomorrow at the cafe. Wonder if she will remember. Well at least I have her number now. Will at least check on her in the morning if nothing else. Good night child. Sleep well.

Oh the feel of cool satin after a warm bath... there is nothing like it. Sleep. I definitely need sleep. But my mind is still with Genev. That is her name, Genevieve. Genev for short. How suitable. She looks like a Genevieve. She looks like something out of Waterhouse. Such color all about her, in the red of her hair, the jade of her eyes, the rosy blush of her cheeks. And she really is a sweet girl. Talked about her job, and how much she dislikes talking to people, though you could not have guessed the latter this evening. She has a good sense of humor too. So down to earth and...well...real. I would never have thought that beneath that mass of hair, that henna design, those long, hippy dresses that there existed a most wonderful and intelligent person. Genev is full of wisdom. Amazing. I am stunned, really. Guess I should not have been so harsh in my judgements of her. Or anyone for that matter. I almost wrote this girl off as a flake. A Gen-Xer. How stupid. All these preconceived notions, for what? I really do not know anyone. And there is not anything wrong with flannel...I guess. Geez. I have turned into one of those people I never wanted to be. God! I am my mother!

Sleep...I need sleep. Too much of this talk and I am libel to jump off the balcony. Self analysis will have to wait until tomorrow. If I see the girl in a normal setting and still have these opinion, then I will reconsider what it is that I think of the world. Until then, however, my transformation will have to wait. Must rest. Must sleep.