Loredana tasked herself with making her body legible, beach ready. This summer, she needed to know her origin stories, how her world could sing to her. And thus the harvesting of friends as witnesses, “the girls,” the nematodes, anchored in assholes, or simply passing through. Susy! Kimberly! Katie! Jacky! Vicky! Isa! Even Bea… especially Bea. All were gathered around Lore- dana, clapping their hands and claws for her. She reveled in her ability to survive through doing her makeup on the Internet, relaxing in the folds of her webcam, her curtain, her vanity. She nodded at her grainy image, thinking of her friends, who were silently watching from outside the frame. They could never know—it was her moment, and she was a professional. She liked being nervous in its quiet.