Thin cotton sticks to my back despite the hot wind blowing up the street. I wipe damp palms against my jeans and pull out a street map. It’s just 9AM in Austin, Texas and I’m melting.

I walk across the street to a bus stop with a long, shaded bench. There’s a woman sitting there, looking at her hands. Her hair is a golden blonde, a halo of youth yet her hands are weathered with dark spots and bulbous knuckles. A pin on her bucket hat reads “I always want more.” Perfect Instagram post. I ask her permission before I snap the shot.

“Well sure, darlin.” Her eyes are a light blue, still bright despite the deep wrinkles that threaten to swallow them whole. I quickly take the pic and thank her, tell her how much I love the saying.

“It’s the story of my life!” Her frosted lips stretch into a smile. “What’s your name honey?”

“Alexis,” I say, before I can think of a fake. I’m off my game. It must be the heat.

“HAH!” her eyes pop. “That was my stage name when I worked the pole in Dallas. Years ago, you know, the good ole days when you could still make a few thousand a night and not have to blow anyone in the back.”

I nod, smiling, as if we’re in on the same joke only I have no idea when to laugh.

“Sounds like you’ve had an exciting life,” I say casually. She’s either 35 or 75, I can’t tell.

“Well, last night was exciting, I’m still a little drunk actually…” she holds out her hand. “I’m Leeann.”

Her hand is dry in contrast to my sweat-soaked palm and I wonder how she manages to stay cool in this heat.

“So you’re from here?” I gesture to the buildings towering over us.

“A few blocks down. It’s a great city, man, you can really have a good time.”

“I’m getting that, yeah.” I crane my neck, looking for the bus.

“I didn’t plan on having a big night, but I was dying to try those new Lime-a-Rita’s? You know what I’m talking about?”

“Bud Lite and a margarita. In a can.”

“A 40oz can! I should have stopped at one, but I didn’t. The second walloped me…”

She looks down at her hands. “Just look what the hot tub did to my nail polish! It’s melted, can you believe it?” Her fingers are tipped in pink lumps of what looks like chewed gum.

“You’ll need a lot of polish remover for that,” I don’t comment on the red welts on her fingers, the thin white scars that ladder up her wrist.

“Yeah, well my toes got it worse. I blistered the sides something awful.” She shudders, tucking her feet under the bench.

“Jesus!”

“Yeah, I don’t usually burn myself,” She pauses. “I’m quite sick with the disease.”

Her confession hangs between us in the steaming air. A minute passes.

“So you’ve tried meetings?” I ask, staring straight ahead.

She nods, folding her mottled hands into her lap. “Sobriety is the answer for some people, but not for me. Two marriages and too many treatment centers and I’m done. Now it’s just me and my friends and we go to galleries and restaurants, and we go out dancing and…”

“A boyfriend?” I ask, sounding hopeful.

“God, I’m so sick of men, so sick of dick. Hey that’s funny, sick of dick! Now, it’s me and my friends and…”

“And the Lime-a-Ritas.”

“Yes!” She slaps my leg. “Hey you’re funny too, what‘re you doing in town anyway?”

“The music festival, ACL?”

“Right right, there’s a hot spring in that part of town, I swim there on Thursdays. Sometimes naked but certainly not during festival days,” she adds rather prudishly.

“Hey, when are you expecting the next bus?”

“Bus? Here? Oh honey no, you’ve got to head over to Jacinta to catch a ride.”

“But…Why is there a bus sign here? And this bench?”

She shrugs.

“Welp, I guess I’m off to find another bus stop. Thanks for letting me take your picture.”

“A pleasure! All mine.”

I’m walking away, about to cross the street when I hear my name.

“I’ve got some water! Do you want it? It’s not cold but…” She’s shaking a Poland Spring bottle, an inch of water swirling at bottom.

“All good. Thanks Leanne,”

“Suit yourself,” she says, and turns her face up upward toward the sun.