Zia led Anself to a small Thai restaurant somewhere in between Soho and Chinatown. She ordered for him, since he had never had Thai food before and hoped that he better have a strong tongue.

He wasn’t sure what that really meant.

But he liked the way it sounded.

While they waited for their food, Zia played absent mindedly with the ends of her hair, and quizzed Ansel about his previous employment in the art world.

“Well,” Ansel said, “Mostly I’ve done just still life modeling. You know, for the art schools, and such. Its not glamorous, but it pays the rent. I have done some pretty experimental stuff too, like the work you’d see in MOMA .”

“Oh, nice,” Zia said, “I was really hoping we could do more than just still life modeling.”

Ansel gulped his water loudly and coughed.

“You okay?” Zia asked.

“Oh fine, fine. So what do you mean by more?” He asked.

“Well, I have this insane project in the works, I hope you’re really open minded,” she explained.

The wheels in Ansels head spun.