on the brink. On the edge. It teeters and it tilts. Over the edge. On the edge. Over the edge. I stare, you stare, and we all end up staring. The anxiety is killing me and you know it. Sitting at the table outside is where I see her. ‘Impervious’ the sign above her reads. I think not. Stride on over and sit right beside her, “Hey, my name is ____.” “What?” “____” Cute name she tells me. Everything is on the edge. I stare, she stares, even he’s staring by now. The only person that isn’t staring is you. Her plastic skin and porcelain eyes. Beautiful I say to my self. She raises up her hand to my face gently finding my cheek. Soft. They’re so nice, those eyes of hers, I want to tell her. And her gesture so genuine. In that second she absorbed all of the hurt man could have ever endured. All of the scrapes and tares just healed, even the ones replaced by mud colored scars. On the brink. On the edge of my seat. We stare. We gaze. Drunk. Everything stands on the brink. Where do I want her? With a book in her hand reading, reading out loud. “The industry is a terrible place once you get involved”, she begins, “full of scandal and deceit.”