Backstage at Gretchen Jones. Images by Bailey Roberts.
She embodied darkness outside of Milk Studios, as if Hades himself had sent her here to reign black upon us. Her greased wet hair with fingered curls was fresh from Cushine et Ochs. She scampered across 15th Street, as if she were running from a crime scene, headed to her next show. For this week, she is nothing more than a soulless mobile mannequin. -Ryley Tice
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