Drunk and foaming at the mouth, I inspect her photographs and shake my head. Her body fascinates me, and yet her eye for beauty is somewhat lacking. It’s always the same; young girls going to London fascinated by its culture; tempted by the bright lights and sounds of the exotic. And yet so quickly they find themselves glued to a new way of being soon forgetting the original fire they once held inside. It’s a bit like the transition from youth to adulthood in general. One minute your rebelling, the next married with children and in pursuit of the promotion that will take you a step closer to a lifestyle befitting of who you aspire to be. So many I studied with all those years ago are now settled in their cosy little lives, and yet when I knew them, they hated with courage and conviction. They were seekers of visions, and now all they seek is comfort. Laughing at how they took the easy way out, I light a cigarette and inspect the scratches on my chest. There are teeth marks in there also; all kinds of perversion suffered in an attempt to wake myself from this limbo that seems to have caught me in its jaws these past few months. Still shaking my head at her work, I want to tell her how I feel. That what interests me most about her is her body, and that every night before I fall asleep, I abuse myself while imagining doing terrible things to her slender limbs. She’s got talent for sure, but how can I tell her she needs to go away and come back in ten years? How can I tell her that she needs to suffer for a decade before being able to say anything of merit? As harsh as it sounds, it’s the truth. It’s what I did, after all. Being lost is the best thing that will ever happen to you. If you’re one of those cunts that think being hip is the way to be, I suggest you drown yourself. The world needs believers, not followers. It needs those who are ready to make the necessary sacrifices to prove they have what it takes to go all the way. It doesn’t need another pretty face ready to say yes.