We have conversations about everything. We laugh at inside jokes. We can't get enough of each other. He becomes my muse. I feel like a muse. I feel like Edie rambling around Andy's Factory. I'm inhaling on cigarettes and tripping over soup cans. My eyes are painted black and I laugh as my long earrings routinely cause trouble by getting themselves caught in clothing. A silver crucifix is stuck in his sweater. If you turn it upside down, it matches the tattoo on his chest. Scratch that, it's tossed onto my night-stand.
