Borrowed from Woody Allen

She had the face of a beautiful man. Her delicate lines were drawn along a male austerity. With piercing eyes that had seen the end, she channelled the room’s energy on me.
“You want me to talk?” she started, barely moving her dry, thin lips. “I cover a wide range of topics; expressionism (art and literature), existentialism, decadence, rudimentary psychoanalysis and classicism. One’s 200, two for 350. Time unlimited.”
Her offer aroused me; blood was shooting to all my [islands] of excitement. She would fulfil all my hopes. The catalogue promised these services, but who still believes advertisements in this day and age?


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