She strums her fingers on the strings, an absent-minded melody, too simple to be anything. Rum and ginger ale, perspires and pales on the stairwell beside her. Is it because she’s one of the guys? Flails away their cigarette smoke as she plays cards all night? She curses like a sailor and shoots whiskey in a sundress. Is it because she climbs waterfalls in black ballet slippers? Her fingers pick and stumble as she tries to remember the song on the tip of her tongue, and the last time she drank anything with a twist.