Will you pretend you're my boyfriend?

When I'm on my own with my camera, taking these pictures, it feels as if I am in a room of my own, a self-contained world.

I'm a total failure at housewifery. I always have been, 'cause I daydream too much. If I start doing the dishes at one in the afternoon, I'll still be there at six in the evening.

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of being an opera singer like Maria Callas or a jazz singer like June Christy or Chris Connor, or approaching songs with the kind of mystical lethargy of Billie Holiday, or championing the downtrodden like Lotte Lenya. But I never dreamed of singing in a rock-and-roll band.

Angel looks down at him and says, “Oh, pretty boy, Can't you show me nothing but surrender?

I didn't want any middle-of-the-road creep. I always wanted the toughest guy in school, the guy from south Philly who wore tight black pants. Y'know, the guy who carried the umbrella and wore white shirts with real thin black ties. I was really nuts over this guy named Butchie Magic 'cause he let me carry his switchblade.

The only parts I like out of any of those women books is the dirty parts. But I don't think their dirty parts are any good, really.