(from "Cash City")

Darling and I are at a rock show, we get in for free because Darling writes for the magazines. We met because we were both go-go boys at the punk club, but Darling stopped dancing to write more. He’s really smart but he has a really sexy body too so it is a tough but uncommon decision which thing to make your money off of. We are wearing cool black clothes, tight. Siouxsie Sioux is an hour late to get onstage (but those of us IN THE KNOW know that that is par for the course (course).

Darling and I are bored and talking about our dates later that night and drinking beer (butch mama). We talk about fashion: He says that he would want to be a model. I say I would never want to be a model, I don’t think. He says he would do it for the glamour and the clothes, because it’s not good enough money, and he’s right. The clothes never occurred to me. It does not seem particularly glamorous. Not what I would call glamorous, just rich people.

I decide that night, when Siouxsie comes onstage with big black feathery hair and a harlequin spandex unitard that I will become a model and not for glamour clothes or money just because I can. And that was a year ago and now I am and people pay me to take my picture. And it feels exactly the same.

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