May 18, 2002
I have this fantasy where I take a stranger from the bus home. The tall guy with the shaved head and black hooded sweatshirt with some punk band’s name on it. And his name is one syllable or else something like Xavier or Alouicious. He doesn’t talk much, he just follows, does whatever I say and drinks his beer quietly and he appreciates it well. No touching, we'll just pretend like we’re this couple, do you have an hour? Alright then, you are a famous photographer and me, a performance artist. Just sit in sexual sparks of our artistic success.