Illustrator wanted for a pitch pack

On her thirty-first summer Miss Kittie signed the lease, she almost proudly and officially and professionally; contractually bound herself to a temporary ownershippe in name only, towards a-trip-the-light-fantastic monument architecture (that she could not afford) of that-weeks-most-ambitious-dreams, she glared at the entrance of a stoutly craning isolated cuboid and liked that it loomed over the most seldom of passers-by and frowning menacingly about it, on a back lit back street. To help me amass and collate a fantastical pitch pack with which I can ambitiously accost the attentions of publishers, I am looking for a risqué illustrator to work with on a novella. The hot-pink shop-face stares down into a white pavement abyss. In her dream, she is immediately taken to a vision of a fully stocked Deli in it's utmost glory. She begins to panic immediately, that she is not prepared for the meeting, whenever that should take place. She does not know why she is panicking but that is why. And she needs to use the toilet. She has a choice, to use the scary toilet (continue reading) or to get dressed (Skip to Chapter four) and pretend that she need not use the scary toilet. She would just die if her staff knew that she sometimes needed to use the toilet. She had not checked for a vent nor asked the estately agent about the air circulation. Nor checked how close the scary toilet was to the shoppe floor. She avoided all of that. All of it offensive. She would have to discuss that number 2 was illegal in ze building, full stop. [login to view URL]