It’s not my best smile. Shit. Now I feel awkward toward him, and this is the first time I’ve even been in his apartment. So far today, I’ve worn dresses, coats, jeans, and now this. This shit he found in the back of his closet. He took at least 40 different pictures of me. Then onto eBay he goes, downloads me into his computer and starts writing auctions. We have a bottle of Jameson’s on the table at the foot of his bed, unopened. Something good’s playing, hypnotic vocals over a really good beat and I can smell the deodorant that I put on early this morning start to work. As in, I would probably have been stank by that point if Fresh Ocean wasn’t keeping me human. I’m about to put the things down, when he says, “You’re perfect.” Um, what does that mean?