fickle back to original 3rd p pov

…switching back to 3rd person pov. And narrator’s name, Ariel…300 pages to edit but I like the distance, tone…better for this work. Here’s a snippet of changes below…

It was a good life for a female. She was protected, back then, owned her own mind, let it wander, free of the dark worries men had to endure. She earned money watching Aunt Jenny’s pets and keeping the house clean, and at night, she could do the other pleasurables, act liberated and desirable, walk the few blocks to The Carousel and serve drinks to fawning middle aged men with big stomachs, red noses and foul breath. Tuesday night special, she got the college kids, after hours, behind the bar by the dumpster, and they slipped her a dollar or two extra, and  Ariel didn’t mind because they were soft and mild mannered and she liked the fresh feel of their unmarred hands, firm, trained, elitist hands on the top of her head, tangled in her hair, moving her head up and down, guiding, instructing, and she was older, enjoyed their boyish ways, the power she had over them, knowing, precisely at that moment, she could pull away, and they needed her  no matter what, in that poise, just then, just before, with the smell of stale garbage wafting and the sounds of a jacket scraping against the metal dumpster. Ariel felt, somehow, a part of them, their lives. 

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