When we talk about assault, we talk about the when, the who, rarely the how and even more seldom the where. For me "the where" was unavoidable -- a casino in my city that blemished the sky line, greeted me from billboards on the highway, checked no on RSVPs to dinners, castings.
I am a new model shooting in a new city with a new photographer. It is 2:30 am when he drops me off at a friend’s house where I am staying. She’s a friend per se, but in the way that you hang out with someone for three straight days, you become friends. She had left a key in a lock box for me to get into her house while she stayed at her boyfriend’s. Well, she had said she had left a key.
A woman comes in the shop where I work today, she’s probably in her forties but it’s hard to tell because it seems she is having a hard life. A hard life, but a happy disposition. She tries on a cobalt blue crushed velvet coat circa 1960 that I’m sure she won’t buy. It is too big on her, but she doesn’t notice. She swings from side to side and the coat swings with her, the way a-line coats do.