I am currently sitting in a dressing room somewhere in a warehouse in the south of Chicago. I wait for Carly as she shoots with Nigel Barker, who is apparently some stinking hot pile of shit, respectively. I bump my favorite Norwegian producer through my headphones, begin to journal, but resort to digitally documenting my thoughts. I think about my plans tonight. I think about what I’m going to wear. I then wonder why I’m caring so early in the day. I’ve been living with women for too long. I don’t mind it though. I ate all the food in the waiting room that they (whoever) had set aside for the models. I walk around the warehouse. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody asks, just nod as if I’m a familiar face. Where the fuck am I? One month until California. The modeling industry is weird. Music is weird.