I’m a Barnard girl. I mean woman. Freshwoman. First-year? Any way you say it, I haven’t had many dates this year. Blame it on the dorms, or my lack of flirting prowess, especially when attempted over the salad tongs at John Jay. So you can’t really judge me for getting needlessly excited for my interview with a certain artist, a big-deal badass of the art world. He had everything I wanted in a man—tattoos, motorcycles, fame, and a love for Norwegian heavy metal. It was a match made in heaven. Or perhaps hell.
