I got a call one summer in Paris from my booker in Sweden.
She told me that I got signed with an agency in New York
and that they would get me a visa.
A month later I bought a ticket to New York in the cab on my way
to the airport and BAM!
I was in The city, walking, and probably rocking, the runway there.
Three month ago I got my first own apartment, in New York.
I have a life there, a guy I love, friends I trust and I don’t need a map
to find my way around. How insane is that?
I sometimes try to remember who that punk girl with stinky wristbands was.
It takes me down to earth a little.
I know she’s still in there and she still wants to be something, someone.
It is time to press play on that real life button now and I’m so excited.