Tennis racket

You could all see from the way she walked in she was wearing her usual blend of melted plastic and hairpins.
and do we lie?
we never.

she swept over, dragging her infernal tennis racket that they call noise. we called her over to our table and she just wept.
and do we think?
we never.

her movement was poetic, like she had a dream or two. but dreams are just for beginners.
and do we write?
we never.
we just type.