Nothing

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."

"What?"

"That's what Kate Moss said."

"She must not have drunk whiskey."

"She did heroin."

"I guess that's why she didn't say 'nothing feels as good as skinny does.'"

I was trying to load my Bronica with 220 film.  I'd forgotten how.  Which way did the black side go?  I hadn't shot 220 film much and not at all for about a year.  The film went in alright, but I had put it in backwards before.  I was nervous.  I didn't want to lose these images.  I set the camera down.

"I'm going to shoot with the digital Nikon," I told her.  It meant nothing to her.  It wasn't about that she was thinking.  She liked the pictures I made, I guess, but she liked the pictures other photographers made, too.  I wasn't important except that I was photographing her.

"Let's call it a night," I said.

"Really?"

"Yea.  Let's go drink whiskey."

"I don't like whiskey," she said.

"You're not trying.  Give it a chance."

"No, that's O.K.  I've got to get going anyway."

She began gathering her stuff--make up, brushes and combs and clothes, keys and cell phone, stuffing it all into one giant bag.

"You got everything?"

"I think so."

I walked her outside to her car.  It was a dark night.  She opened the car door and was lit up by the interior light.

"Let me know when you want to shoot again," she said.  "And let me know when you finish the prints."

"Ciao bella," I said as she started the engine.  "Ciao."

I was done.  I knew it.  It was no use any more.  I had no ideas.  It had all become repetitive.  What the hell, I thought.  I wanted a drink.  I'd never been skinny.  I didn't know what that felt like.  Apples and diet coke.  Bullshit.  I wanted whiskey.

"Nothing feels as good as skinny looks," I said to the dark.  Kate Moss wasn't so skinny any more.  Now what?  I wanted to ask her.  It's all downhill from here.