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The cab driver overheard the girl's conversation, and told them that they seemed like really nice girls, and to be careful when getting involved with that "crazy artsy stuff", as he liked to call it.
"There are a lot of people who like their drugs in that place, especially that Edie chick, so be careful, you two."

"We will" they sang in unison as he pulled up to the latest rendition of The Factory.

They tentatively made their way into the building. Lined up against the back of the building was a group of people silk screening what appeared to be a photograph of Marilyn Monroe.
The group was huddled together; discussing what colors should be used to create the print. The colors they chose made Marilyn look like something out of a cheesy comic book, but everyone was exclaiming how genius the revamped picture was.

"There wasn't really much to understand when it came to Andy and his 'Pop Art'", my mother assured me while she stroked my hair.
"A lot of people want to twist his work to fit their own agendas, political or otherwise, but the truth of it was he just loved to be weird. He was fascinated by it. That night I had the pleasure of witnessing the climax of his genius with that Marilyn silkscreen, and I managed to meet your father, all in one night".

"Now we're getting to the good stuff", I thought.

My father was one of the groups helping Andy with his silkscreen of Marilyn, and he noticed my mother right away. Mom said that later on my father had told her he thought the 60's version of Rita Hayworth had walked into the room. He barely noticed Mary Anne, who was strikingly beautiful in her own right. It seemed as though my father was quite myopic that night, and he started talking to Mom the minute she was in ear shot.

"I had kept attempting to bring up what I thought about the Marilyn piece they were working on, but all he only seemed interested in getting to know me". Her voice was soft and distant; lost in remembering what it was like to gaze into my father's stinging hazel eyes. She always described them as stinging because every time she would look into them that night she felt a prick of heat deep down in a part of her body that she had not realized was even there. It was a feeling I was going to feel myself when I was older, she assured me, and continued.

"I forgot all about trying to meet Andy, and we wound up in a corner of The Factory, talking about everything and anything until the sun started slicing through the windows and onto the hardwood floors. I looked

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