Chloe doesn't have to work but she does it anyway just to prove a point. She cashes the checks her father sends her every month, puts them in an account and quietly goes on with her life. "Guilt is a worthless currency" she says when I ask her, but I've seen the balances and most people would call that a minor fortune.
She writes copy for an agency full of writers that want to be authors, this weekend she got up at seven on a Sunday to work on a pitch. "At first I thought it was funny", she tells me, "how everyone there complains about working for the sake of money alone. Now it's just sad. I'm the only one that doesn't want to write the next great American novel."
I can't tell you about the plans she has for the blood money she's saving, but the ambition alone intrigues me. Madness is at its most beautiful when dressed in silk chiffon and raspberry colored lipstick.