It is a pleasant Monday afternoon in early spring. The sun shines through yellow curtained windows in FF's studio, and if you bend your ear to the left you can hear a helicopter flying above Portland. FF is sitting on wobbly office chair covered in Swedish fabric. She is finishing up a late lunch - leftovers from several nights ago - soba noodles with tofu and vegetables. She has a bit of grease on her chin and her hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. She is wearing a baggy pair of skinny jeans, green t-shirt and an old man sweater. Her socks are off-white and stained with floor.
FF - It's spring.
FF - Yes. I know. The flowers are blooming, trees are budding, knees are unveiling. It's a wild time of year.
FF - But your knees are swathed in denim.
FF - They are. It's cold in here. I need to keep my knees warm otherwise they'll dry out. Like dried figs.
FF - Understood.
FF - What have you been doing today?
FF - Lots of "work work" mixed with occasional glances out of the window, and one or two high fives for you.
FF - Your high fives are mighty and powerful. Where did you pick that up?
FF - Somewhere in Prague. A long time ago. There was a man playing a shiny horn on the street and as I walked by, he held out his hand for a high five. I gave him a high five and then he insisted I give him another. Then another. "Not strong enough" he said. And so I spent 10 to 15 more minutes high fiving this strange guy with a horn until I finally got it down. I became a pro. He told me so.
FF - Did you leave the guy a dollar?
FF - I think I left him one hundred Korunas (about 5 dollars these days) despite the fact that I was living on carrots and mayonnaise.
