The morning after the saddest night on earth

21st/Broadway/Stout, Denver

It's not terribly gross, aside from the gutter grunge covering Barbie's body, naked except for her red Converse hightops. Her feet are coquettishly turned in, like a Catholic school girl. Her wild mop of blond hair cloaks her features, floating around her head in a tangled, filthy mass. The sash from her dress lays next to her, just within reach of her gnawed little fingers. Poor Barbie. Poor, poor Barbie. I like to imagine that she's not dead, just sleeping. Yes, that's it. She's just sleeping.