When there were people around, she pretended to be nice. She would buy me things after her fits of rage. I could care less about the fancy stylish cra... she used to buy me. I still hate her. I hate them both. I can’t think of a more lousy pair of human beings, except maybe my sister. My sister is a real piece of work. A sociopath who hates men and uses people like pieces on a chess board. She’s got no conscience whatsoever but she’s good at hiding that from people. She can’t hide it from me. She. She was, perhaps, a bit too thin. Artists, ingeneral, didn't earn a good deal of money, and, after Professor Hamburghad booted her booty--because, she'd confided to me, she'd had theaudacity to refuse to have her cock and balls cut off and become a"complete woman"--she'd had to go on alone. After her so-called mentorand lover had convinced her to change her artistic style, if not hersex, she'd been able to earn barely enough to pay her rent; she ekedout a living, if one can call it that, by. More

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