Taylor Sykes

I shimmer under black lights and sway to the sound in my perfect purple-sequined dress purchased just for this. It flows over my hips, skims my fishnet thighs. I’ve tied up my hair in a silk scarf. I am Edie …

Bobby told me to write it all down. Write, write, write it, write what? I’m not an artist, poet, creative. Not like him. A few paintings once, before it all. Before this, before Andy, before all that death. In Cambridge, …