I met Alex in a bar and that started it.  She wore a shirt open to the waist like a man.  Staring at her flat patch of chest, I couldn't believe she was a double D.  It was a Sunday morning and from behind the bar she carded me, then disappeared immediately into the kitchen, her shift relieved by someone harder in the face. She was the sort I often take on as a muse, blank blondes I call them, naturally pale and clean like a stack of freshly pressed white shirts. Alex got fired the very next day and the bar owner said I should call her, lift her spirits with a modeling gig. We met for coffee. She very openly explained the process, and I was struck by her honesty.  I was also fascinated by her idea of herself and how she presented that idea to the world.  I don’t know why she decided to trust me to tell her story.