ere so short he could even see the frilly white panties they were wearing underneath； which
happened to be little girls？ vintage underwear from the nineteen…fifties and fit so snugly on the
models that their butt cheeks were busting out of them。 Instead of sitting down in the front row；
where Rusty Klein had managed to snag him a seat between Stevie Nicks and superhip
performance artist Vanessa Beecroft； Dan stood at the back of the Harrison Street Club； clutching
his black leather…bound notebook and trying to look writerly in case Rusty Klein was somewhere
nearby and was secretly studying him。
The show was set to strange German folk music and there was straw scattered on the runway。
Little boys with blond pageboy haircuts wearing lederhosen led bleating white goats around by
leather leashes as impossibly tall models stomped by them； their bare breasts bobbing。
Bestiality； Dan scribbled furtively in his notebook。 The goats were crapping all over the place
and he noticed that the hems of the models？ skirts had been shredded on purpose。
Tears were drawn on their cheeks in iridescent blue eye pencil。Ruined milkmaids ； Dan wrote；
trying not to feel pletely out of place。 What the hell was he doing at a fashion show anyway？
The twenty…something…year…old brunette next to him leaned over and tried to read what he was
writing。 ？Who are you with？？ she demanded。 ？Nylon？Time Out ？？ She was wearing pointy
rhinestone…studded glasses fastened old…lady style to a gold chain around her neck and had the
thickest bangs Dan had ever seen。 ？Why aren？t you seated with press？？
Dan closed his black notebook before she could read any more。 ？I？m a poet；？ he said
im