A chicken with its head cut off–she sighed and turned to look the other way. She felt like those poor chickens art a live poultry place just before they’re taken by the legs to be slaughtered. How much more of this, of this need to cry, to express her feelings some how, some way? Something on TV caught her eye. A little girl, no more than 2, whose life was saved by a miracle. Tears flowed down her face. It was dark and nobody saw her. The tears helped. She felt in control. She was human instead of a smiling robot.