She sat on the edge of the bed; right arm missing, left leg gone. The patient looked at Meg lying there, examining her, wondering what the story was. She just sat there looking at her, eyes darting over Meg’s covered body. Meg could feel her presence. She rolled over to face the amputee. They looked at each other curiously, not knowing what to say. Finally, the silence broke.

Next year, I’m going to try out for the New York Yankees, she said in a Dominican accent. You think I gotta shot.

You got just as good a chance as I got, Meg told her.

Probably won’t make it because I’m a woman, she laughed.

Probably. That would be the case.

I jumped in front of a subway train. That’s my story.

I’m tired of living, Meg said. Tired of being a crack whore.

Ohhhh.  I see.

Yeah. An angel told me to come here. A kind angel. 

Kindness? Strange.

How so?

It doesn’t exist.

Probably not. Maybe I’m just tired of the streets.

You homeless?

Yeah.

What’s your dream? What do you want out of life?

To be a Rockette.

The Yankee and the Rockette. What a match. They both laughed.