Flashing cameras surround the space where art is worn. It paces up and down the stage with passion in the air. Love, hate, lust fills the room as piece after piece strides, turns, and strides. Heels clicking against the hard dark ground show different different bases for different looks. Each unique piece more beautiful then the rest. Strut, look the part; nothing has to be real. Human mannequins and nothing more that much is known for sure. The music reverberates around the room and each foot is forced to tap or stride. Too much hair, not enough makeup, too much material, not enough attitude. Remember to say nothing, don't smile, just strut. Show off it's all you can do, don't fall.
Queue fog machine and champagne; none for the art, too many calories and they may spill. Mind over matter, whatever you don't mind will make you fatter. Do what I tell you, I will help you move into the industry, you can trust me. I promise I won't let you down, you mean more to me then just your age and looks. Don't worry, I know the contract ends when you turn 22, but I promise we will draft another one then. Sheesh.
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