Me –– trying to sleep on the bus station bench, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you ––choking on my odor, tripping over your purse trying to get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?

Once upon a time, one ad in and of itself bearing that quality was a sign of desperation; now, many on a regular basis would come off as irritating at best for the readers, one of whom that works at a hospital nearby town.

After receiving one too many personal ads from a secret admirer, Nurse Snowheart contemplates on her situation and her views on companionship by talking with one of her colleagues at the hospital.

As she does so, even the very ad itself wouldn't be of much concern; of course, nobody truly knows what she had gone through prior to the talk thereof.

Cover art belongs to GlancoJusticar.