There was one other thing that bothered me about Camille, and I figured that it was time to do the experiment."Here, Camille," I said, putting my righ... hand in my pocket. I pulled out a purple ticket. "Have a ticket."Camille's eyes widened, but she reached out and took the ticket. "You have one wish," Camille said in a monotone."I wish that you will remember what just happened, and realize that the tickets once again work on you." Your wish is my command. HOLY SHIT!" Camille's face was a mask. Still, perhaps I should share the story with these few pages and let history be my judge.Where to begin? The need to create art has gripped me for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory is of sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor looking a print of Leonardo's Last Supper in some book of my moms. It was a poor reproduction, insignificant compared to the majesty of the original, but I soon became drunk on it, worshipping at the foot of the master. I actually wrote him a letter,. More

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