The gypsy's mother is in the sickhouse. Brain bleed. There will be surgery when the swelling goes down.
I am told these things because we're kindred in more ways than one; she's an ICU nurse, I used to dance with the dead for money. We've had closeness with our mothers. My mother's last seventeen days were around this time of year.
I tell the gypsy I'll do whatever I can. She's my friend and I've been where she is. I'm thanked, but I'm really lying.
I might do anything for her, except tell her about the bad feeling I have...