Posted on June 12, 2012 by Hobart Fowlkes

Francesca bolts out of her loft on Broadway near Union Square.  Dizzy from a month of dieting on nothing but wheatgrass shots and Cinnamon Lifesavers. Everything goes black for about 2 seconds as the blood rushes out of her brain as she swerves to miss colliding with the giant inflatable rat that the Custodial Services Employees Union had erected in front of her building sometime in the still of the night.  They’re pissed because the building hired some non-union peeps to do something.  Whatever.  She’s late.  It’s the casting at FORD for which she has been waiting an entire month.  She just finished a spread for Vogue, and there was the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue, but fashion week is coming and she needs runway work.  How could she be so late? She shouldn’t have stayed out so late the night before at  Les Bains at The Standard, but the puffiness under her eyes is nothing a little hemorrhoid cream can’t fix. Continue Reading →