“She likes crack and heroin, slim jeans and her skinny arms.” “She remembers all the hamburgers she had on her wedding night.” “She likes asphalt, cigarettes, beers and mini-markets.” “She likes to sing and snort cocaine.” “She’s like a crazy and depressed ladette.” She has the face and looks of a front-page girl and a tabloid attitude. But she’s never named. She’s no singer no more, nor a celebrity. Here she comes now, knocked out, shabby and supremely proud, dramatically sophisticated: she’s a shadow tumbling in a black and white chaos. A Rock’n’Roll ghost turning 25. A proxy, a copy, as much as a model: female prototype of a woman on parade, a showy bird. She’s tomorrow’s woman. Cocaine and White Slippers is her portrait. “And she pukes on her dress”… see an extract |
