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No one had seen her in a month of Sundays; the last anyone had heard she was waiting tables in the dessert somewhere in the middle of nowhere with nothing and nobody; without a return address; under some made up name like Annie. I don’t believe she would be so obvious taking a plain orphan name like Annie Nobody to live a life of waiting in the desert for nothing in particular. She was more than nothing; she had somewhere to be, something to do - she was somebody. It could not have been easy for her, starting over, changing her name, being somebody else, and forgetting where she came from for nothing, for noody and I envy no one else more.