You don’t know. You think that because I wear ill-fitting clothes and shoes that have seen better days, I a m not much–much of anything. You think that my life was always ragged and topsy turvy. No. You don’t know. You don’t know me and it’s no use my telling you that I was like you, or almost like you, once. I could do anything. I had resources. I could go anywhere and not have to ask strangers for help. I didn’t have to feel like Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire.