Nicotine stained fingers grasp a cigarette, desperately sucking the remains as if drinking through a straw. In this confined space called a model apartment the stench of old fags is suffocating. The threadbare carpets match our dispositions. Mere shadows of our former selves. Greasy unkempt hair, exquisite bone structure jutting out from under thin pale skin. Hey, I should be worried, break this silly mold we are stuck in, but this is the look of the season, totally in vogue and due on a photo-shoot in a few short hours. So on goes the coffee pot bubbling away like an old friend and the only thing on the menu for breakfast. We are the abused beauties of the Heroin Chic era.