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“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 |
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