The car purred to life and the tall shadowy figure of the boy she had the most earthshaking sex with a few nights ago gaped at her with contempt from behind the glass. She wanted to go home but first she needed to be one with the wind. She listened to the sound of the cars whooshing by and drank in the bubbly nature of the people heading into the Chinese owned supermarkets and knew she was finally home. Home always found her in her moments of despair. It found her in the men she fell in love with, her preference of music and her basic outlook on life. Tom was a good man but he was safe and Kitty never liked safe, she was reckless and risque like the malefactor blood that ran in her veins. She could not run from it. The Ghetto was not just a place; it was a state of mind. She always thought she was running from the Ghetto but the Ghetto was with her even to the deepest corners of the earth for the Ghetto was her. You could not run away from yourself.