He picked out a neon-green Sour Patch Kid and held it in front of her face. "Do you accept this little sugar man and his mission to bring you peace and fulfillment with the risk of a major sugar crash to follow?""I do," she said. "I accept the terms of the tiny sugar man, and the wrath of my impossible mother.
I picked up the blue tube again, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a perfect line of paint onto the palate. As soon as I brushed it on the canvas, I was responsible for it, for the inevitable imperfections. My world had always been like that paint, left on a palate. That color was a passive observer. But not it wanted to make something of itself. And I was terrified.
In a really good thrift store you feel like you're in a room with all of these stories, and it's up to you to go and find the stories that you want to bring home with you. And then when you wear the clothes, they help you tell a new story, but they're bringing that old part with them and with you and you're benefiting from that in a way that you can't even really understand.
Bartender," she said to an invisible person, "a Jeremy special." She grabbed two plastic cups. "Coming right up," she replied to herself.The Jeremy special ended up being an elaborate mix of fruit juices and vodka, and wasn't half bad."i think you have a successful bartending career ahead of you," I said as we made our way into the living room."Later I'll make you the Sebby special," she said. "It's used to remove paint from cars.