The mad woman on the roundabout looked young, early 30s. Not yet wrinkled or covered in dust. Almost normal. The only tell-tale signs her slightly matted wig, the fact she slept there at night. There were plenty of women awake on the roundabout in the dark, standing together or evenly spaced apart, fearlessly displaying thighs that touched in the middle, round buttocks, pert breasts, tiny waists. When car headlights flicked over them, they looked straight into the drivers’ eyes, offers clear and without shame.

Not her.