Posted by Jasmine Marie on Saturday, April 3, 2010,
She moves through the restaurant, plates spilling
from her arms like feathers on a bird. Her name is Margarita. She
dances to the clink of the oldies playing on a table-sized jukebox. Her
hair is pinned up; each bobby pin representing a different cycle of her
life. One bobby pin stands for the men in her life: an alcoholic father
now disabled and bare in a nursing home. Another one for a boyfriend,
scared of her pool-playing skills, that ran off. But not even in the
middle of the n...