Dolores Hidalgo was a friend of mine, so kind to me about the hidden kneecap in my chest. Never once did she judge the logic of a patella near my left ventricle (like so many so-called friends I’ve had). She was happy enough just listening to my woes, her big wide eyes never blinking. Come to think of it, I never saw her move unless I was the one to change her position. Folks always called her a doll, which I always attributed to her immense kindness. It wasn’t until I started taking medication for my delusions that I began to realize that she was truly an inanimate object (in a landfill now).
WHARVED 