She said: "I had this dream where I was having lunch with Andy Warhol. It was in some mid-town place and the food was OK, but not fabulous. He was the shy person I always thought he was supposed to be. Kinda funny. Very pale. Almost bald but hiding it. Quite. He was surprise when I told him that I was so sorry when I heard that that awful woman shot him dead. I went to the funeral, of course. He was stunned for a moment as if he were trying to remember being shot and then being dead. He made some funny comment about one of the Factory "Ladies" but then the conversation moved on the other things. Like, what he was working on now. He was tired of the very large paintings that he did before, you know, the "event that would be tacky to bring up again" and how he thought that America was ready for tiny paintings that you could put in your wallet and trade with friends because the economy was bad and every had all the big stuff they would ever want, so little was going to be the newt BIG. I was happy that he was happy and glad that he wanted to have lunch with me. But, you know what? I paid the bill because he doesn't carry money. He only paints it."

Stumble It!