“You’ve just broken out of jail. You’re angry, vengeful, and ready to take this sleeping city by storm. A fugitive on the run, bass thundering as your stilettos smack the cement. You’ve missed the alleyway grit you call home. It’s time to wreak some havoc.”
I rattled off my ridiculously melodramatic story to Anne, who probably thought I was a little crazy. It was 10 PM, and by time we wrapped up at 2 AM, both of us were very delirious and actually thought we were criminals on the run. Whatever gets you in character though, right?
Anne, clad in bodysuit and knee-high stilettos, metallic belt wound tightly around her neck, muscles tensing, eyes ready to send me camera-shattering glares. She was channeling a bit of my fugitive story, with a bit of her own catwoman-esque persona shining through. The combination had her capitalizing on her dark and sultry glamour. Who would think she’s actually a sleep-deprived applied math major?