Chapter Twenty Two
The beginnings of summer have returned and it is not yet a hundred zillion degrees in Las Vegas. It is maybe 85, soft breezes as a month has passed, and the Sun is yellow.
I am sitting at my window seat bare foot, in my loft, smiling at the black girl across the way, slashing her heart, mind against a massive slab of black marble.
It is a commission she has received from a London gallery. It will be placed along a park near The Wharfs. It is where ships come and go. Great ships have always been apart of London’s soul, as she is of me now.
Well, so far, so good. We’re kinda inseparable, best friends, artists in collusion of a real life, a conspiracy of s*x, respect, dignity and of course love. Not that kind of stifling love.
No cheap, meaningless soap opera love, a d
