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Some Day    (Continued)

Maybe the kind who lives in astudio on the fourth floor in a Manhattan apartment building with only a mattressand a refrigerator with pears and peanut butter. Or maybe one who sits on a sunnyporch filled with exotic plants, listening to New Age music and dirtying herhands at a pottery wheel. I want to lay canvases out on the floor and splatterblues and reds and yellows across it, but not before meticulously planning whereeach splatter should go and its size and shape and color. I want to draw bitterwomen and fearful men, and let my portraits tell their stories. I want people tolook at what I create and remember it for an hour, a week, orforever.

Most days I want to be the lead singer in a rock band, wearhalter-tops and baggy pants, and dye my hair pink.

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