Fiorella is wading through the eight-inch high pile of papers on her desk right now, but how can she throw away her diagram of how to make a pillow that looks like a human brain? Or her notes on the smarmy guy who came to her high school reunion with an Italian contessa on his arm so he could pimp their toiletries line? Or great lines like, "It runs like clockwork--when a clock works?" Or her description of a hefty woman with unnaturally black hair who walked into Barnes and Noble wearing jeans, sneakers, and a fishnet hoodie over a black lace bra? Or the philosophical statement, "I am a universe unto myself--as are we all."
And so is the eight-inch high pile on Fio's desk.