The shirt was salvageable. She could cut off the sleeves and wear it as a shell top, but she stripped it off, too. Then, naked save for her panties, hose, and boots, she groomed her upper body as much as possible.

She licked her arms and hands clean, paying particular attention to the nails. She made sure there was no blood or bits of skin trapped. Milda had sent along a couple of washcloths soaked in one of her concoctions, and they served as high tech wet naps. She didn't know what the stuff was, but it soaked up blood without smearing it. She vigorously scrubbed her face, neck, and hair. Since there was no mirror available to check, she had to be careful about missing any spots.

When she was done, Acacia stuffed the ruined clothes and used rags into a plastic bag, which would just fit into her purse. But first she extracted a tightly wrapped packet about the size of a trade paperback. Breaking the seal, she shook it. It rustled and crinkled, then unfolded like an origami sculpture being undone. When she smoothed it out, it was a dress. The paper was a little sturdier that the stock used for grocery bags, and covered in a design that mimicked tie-dye.

As she slipped into it, Acacia reflected that it would suit nicely, as long as there wasn't a rainstorm. That had happened once. The dress had melted in the downpour, and she'd had to streak home. It gave several bums another story to tell that no one would believe.

Slinging the now heavier purse over her shoulder, she walked back to the dumpster, and leaped to the top. She balanced for an instant, tossing a disinterested glance back at the cooling meat on the cement, then walked delicately around the rim to the other side and dropped down.

Her stride was brisk as she exited the alley and headed back toward the more populated area. 'Cat People' was going to be on Creepy Cinema tonight, and she didn't want to miss it. She enjoyed it immensely, even if she couldn't understand why the leading lady was so obsessed with that drippy guy. She'd make some popcorn, with plenty of butter. One terrific thing about her metabolism--she didn't have to worry about getting fat.

She started humming. By the time she was moving through the street hustlers and tourists, she'd started bopping to the beat in her head, shimming her shoulders and hips as she bounced. She drew grins and head shakes. One laughing, seventeen-year-old hooker followed her for a few yards, imitating her movements clumsily.

Acacia laughed with her, did an expert pony step around her that the girl had no hope of copying, then gave her a brief but fervent kiss. The girl blushed for the first time in a year, and watched the strange, vibrant woman dance on down the street, singing, "There she was justa walkin' down the street, singin' doo wa diddy diddy dom diddy doo..."