16. This King Of Glastonbury
It seems these are a litany of relationships gone wrong, choices made to do with men and not to do with me. That’s what happens when you write a memoir. A thirty-thousand-foot view, you get to see the pattern of the streets. That summer of 1994 I was supposed to be starting an artist’s collective with the girl I’d met at the Chelsea Town Hall. We’d had it all mapped out. There was a building off Portobello that we were about to sign the lease on, we’d had meetings with financial advisors, we were going to be the answer to artistic poverty. Then the man with pigtails happened. Glastonbury was…
The skinny
The skinny isn't ready yet — notes appear once the transcript is processed.