- Vulnerable and deep and more than a bit witchy.
“Hi, Tori Amos! Good morning!” I practically scream into the phone. I was a little excited. In reality, my “good morning” was a ridiculous faux pas—she was calling from Istanbul, which is 10 hours ahead of regular old Seattle time. But who cares? Good morning, good afternoon, good night—good what-the-fuck-ever. Tori Amos!
“I’d always imagined talking to you sitting on beanbags with a great big smoldering bong between us!” I confess. She laughs, generously enough. Such a darling laugh! I imagine that she smells like strawberries, patchouli, and a fresh summer breeze.
“Hello, Adrian! I am so happy to be talking with you!” Oh, really. Tori Amos is so happy to be talking with me? Well. You know what this means, naturally. I can die now. “Well, let’s pretend we are on beanbags!” she says. “My beanbag is in Istanbul right now, and your beanbag is in Seattle.”
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