Her head falls to the side and, as if in slow motion, her glasses slips soundlessly on to the benchtop which her glass of wine lay. The man behind the counter approaches her promptly and with his deep heavily accented voice says

“Wake up miss. You’ve been waiting here for over an hour.”

Slowly, her head rises; her long red hair covers her face. With a swift flick of her head, her shiny red hair swings away revealing her face to the bar tender. Each feature on the face was only complimented by the feature seen before. Her entire face was covered in pimples and moles; they almost seemed to be stacked on op of each other with the seemingly endless number of disgusting little lumps on her face. A horrific gasp leaves the bar tenders mouth and with a look of disgust, he turns away in order to hide his horror struck face. Even though he is not looking at her, she knows what he is thinking; she knows that he is disgusted, she knows enough from all the other experiences of people looking at her, she knows she has to leave. Decisively, she stands up ready and wanting to leave the hideous place, places money on the counter and runs away almost on tears.

Once out the door, she keeps running and running, further and further away. As far as her skinny legs will take her and finally, when she could run no further, she turns the corner, down a small alley and falls to the cold hard ground. Her hand reaches into her purse, fumbling through it; she finds what she was looking for and pulls it out. A small black mobile phone lies in her hand, she autodials one. The phone starts to ring, once, twice, still nothing, three, four rings. Just as she was about to give up, a man answers, his voice was sympathetic, confident and caring.