In the box was a postcard the Loser had put in a simple frame when he was in high school, in the 1970s. He always liked old pictures of nude women. They have a kind of gentle softness that the Loser finds appealing even now, and he likes the idea that they had appeal even though they were, probably, long dead.
|This naked woman has been dead for many years now.|
For every wound a balm
For every sorrow a cheer
For every storm a calm
For every thirst a beer.