“Villard de Honnecourt: Medieval Architect.” I sit at my dining room table surrounded by index cards, overdue library books, and yellow sheets of legal paper scrawled with false starts. A crude drawing of a lion from Villard’s 13th-century sketchbook of architectural details glares at me with a too-human smile. Although Villard claims to have sketched it from life, scholars suggest he may never have seen a real lion. I believe them.
The woman finally understands. “Thank you for being so nice.” She retreats down the stairs.
Tears are streaming down the woman’s cheeks. “If that social worker comes Monday and sees I got nothing for my baby, she’ll take him away!”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
The girl attempts to be polite; she makes sure we introduce ourselves–her name is Margery Davis. She asks if she can smoke, but only after she’s lit a Marlboro. “All I’ve had in three days,” she says in a southern drawl, “is cigarettes and Mountain Dew.”
“I can’t eat that stuff ’cause of my teeth,” says Margery. She points to the crunchy noodles and wiggles her two front teeth. With dirty fingers she moves them forward, backward, and side to side. They are the only top teeth I can see.
“Did you try the Salvation Army?” asks Tammy.
She backs away from him, saying, “Please don’t be mad at her–I didn’t come looking for no trouble.”
