Consequently, only people who don’t care much about social acceptance, like artists or hippies, stay unshaved. And me,” I laughed.“You ... you�...re an artist,” was all she could think of as a reply. “Ah bullshit,” I laughed. “I write porn. It has nothing to do with art. It’s an outlet, and it’s fun, but it’s not art.” She seemed thoughtful and serious when she replied. “I think writing is an art,” she said quietly. “At least not less than any other art.”“Well, alright,” I said. “If you think of. " And she left.Robin passed out and hung there, suspended by the tangled vines. Theonly sound in the greenhouse was the occasional drip of condensationfrom a leaf. CHAPTER 2, NEW YOURobin slowly woke up. He was in bed. A hospital bed. Sickly florescentlight illuminated the room. His throat was parched so he croaked,"water." Doctor, she's awake," a woman's voice said. A straw pressed to his lipsand Robin drank greedily.A doctor moved into Robin's view. "Please stay still, Robin. You'resafe. I'm. More

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