Eventually, it was the threat of someone walking in and impaling themselves that made Mandy get up from her computer and grab the broom so she could sweep the shattered cup up off the floor and as she did she thought of her own past and how she could have been Juliette.

She had run away from home, walked the streets done things of which she wasn't proud, run with losers and thugs but somehow she'd been able to remain untouched by the anger so many had buried inside. 

Was she special? Mandy didn't think so; that would mean life was watched over by capricious Gods or Spirits and the Idea that it was more than mathematical probability depressing. Could she have tried to be more understanding, it took effort to try and be understanding and she hated having to expend her time needlessly. 

No the Blue haired girl could learn as she had learned all on her own because in the end you only had yourself to depend on.

So she swept up the shattered cup and dumped it in the trash a forgotten memory of the person who had smashed it in microcosm. 

When she sat back down she looked at the tattoos or Ta moko and thought of how they were both reflections of the inner person on display for those who cared to read them. She had no such identifiers on her body and it was more about her private security than an esoteric choice that she had none; the police used them to ID people. Hell the prisons and the Feds had a Biometric database of people's tattoos and used them as a method of ID like fingerprints and the bonus in gang tatts was they told the person's history if you knew what you were looking at. 

Mandy had learned early from a former Elite military man turned bum and addict how it worked; she wasn't sure if he was right but he'd claimed that the FBI and other government agencies even planted camera's in know Gang Tattoo shops so they could add the newst art on subjects of interest.

"It isn't paranoia to always think they were watching because sometimes they were" she said softly to herself