There appeared to be some confusion at the ATM machine - there were no video clips. That didn't seem to worry the long line in front of it too much; they were pulling their ducats out of the bank so they could buy merchandise that ranged from the ridiculous (ass plug shaped candles) to the intense.
Once in the exhibit we're greeted by twenty-foot posters of the Wicked Girls. Immediately I begin dreaming of Devinn Lane as a fifty-foot-tall woman. Attacking. That's a whole lotta loving; I need a cigarette.
I meet new starlet Anais. No relation to the famous erotica writer, nor the director that bares her last name. Though it was Michael Ninn who gave the newbie her name. I ask her if she's read any Anais Nin. Alas, she does not read. Of course when you look as great as she does, worrying about her literary education is just nitpicking.
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