Her days are strangely orderly: a repetition of dinners, personal grooming, museum exhibitions, sex, Duane Reades (where she goes to buy sushi), gallery shows, heroin, and art films. She finds the pattern confirming, but does she really believe it’s sustainable? Or do the barely discernible rifts suggest a pattern within the pattern, a larger scheme she’s not showing us, a truth that won’t be revealed until we can see everything?
