
Edith Piaf - "Milord"My boyfriend and I try to get back together even though deep down we both know this is never going to be a success. He's been in Paris pretending to be the world's loneliest boy while paying his rent with high fashion runway gigs. The guy actually got scouted while hung over and eating a McDonald's hamburger. What an asshole.
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Young Marble Giants - "Brand New Life"I'm sitting on the train going from Utrecht to Amsterdam with my French friend Charlotte.
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The Smiths - "Hand in Glove"The tiny photo room in the basement of the all-female design office I work for is my sanctuary. Some days I can get away with being down here for hours without talking to any of my coworkers. Every so often I am joined in the basement by an old Asian pattern maker who smiles as casually as she passes gas. But my "photo studio" has a big door that locks and I take my precious time shooting stock product photos for the company's website.I don't know shit about photography but I have figured out how to use the fancy camera my boss gave me. "I trust you and your abilities," she said to me as she chucked me the camera and scattered into her office. Looking back, I'm pretty sure the website was not her top priority.I love being alone in that photo room. I have a Walkman and one cassette tape by The Smiths. I listen to it over and over. Morrissey sings and I listen. I really feel The Smiths like any person who has been rejected by their first "true love" feels The Smiths. I make all Morrissey's lyrics apply to my exact situation. Every word Morrissey says is my pain. He is my trauma. When Morrissey sings about London I think of my ex-boyfriend who dumped me for another country, for modeling, for single-boy-lonely-traveling-heart-freedom and I feel sick to my stomach. Sometimes I vomit. Actually, I vomit a lot. I can not hold down anything, not even coffee. I leave a restaurant with my coworkers and immediately vomit on the street. I eventually see a doctor. He puts me in a giant space age machine, makes me swallow a weird liquid and x-rays me to trace the problem. There is nothing physically wrong with me, so it's psychological. It's heart break. It's SO dramatic. (Give me a break.)When I am in the photo studio, I unhinge the clasps on boring leather purses and knot motherly scarves through foggy eyes. I totally hate myself for being so emotional. It's hard to take a sharp photo when you are crying, but I need Morrissey to keep hanging out with me. I need a partner to encourage me to selfishly revel in my break-up like a big baby. Morrissey is the only one melodramatic enough to do the job so I keep him on repeat for months and months until I finally start to get over myself. Then, I put Morrissey away for a long time.Previously: Part Three@myszkaway