---- separation papers. Then I went to the South Side. To the run-down Irish dive bar where she worked. She was on her tiptoes under a single, dim yellow bulb, using sign language to interpret the news on the TV for a few deaf patrons. The light, filtering through shelves of dusty glasses, dappled her skin. A gentleness, an innocence... it had no place in this city of sin. No wonder Vincent was hooked. "Watch out-!" Suddenly, the old ceiling fan overhead came crashing down. I flinched back, but Claire lunged forward, taking the full force of the metal blades with her back to protect me. ---- BAM! The rusty metal tore through her back, blood instantly soaking her cheap white shirt. She barely winced, just turned to the terrified customers and signed: "Tt's okay, just an accident." Ijust stood there, stunned. Her blood dripped onto the grimy floor, each drop a crimson stain on the filth. Half an hour later, I was in the bar's cramped back room, cleaning her wound. Her skin was so thin I could see the veins. A nasty old scar ran across her collarbone. "This is...2" She smiled and signed, "A broken bottle from when I was a kid. Doesn't hurt anymore." But I knew. On the South Side, you treated wounds