Unless there is some strict definition of literature that says "It must be communicated more-or-less directly from the creative source of the story with minimal interference by any mediators (so editors are okay), else it is Not Literature."

If this were the problem, then Shakespeare's out of the running for being Literature. He was alla time scavanging other people's stories and running amok with them.

With stripey tights and a candy bra....must be stilleto platform hooker heels. In red.

It should be noted that, at the time of the sartorial adventure in question, the footwear was red Converse high-tops. There is photographic evidence of this.

I'm the one that wears the red hooker heels.

I'm so proud.

I'm the one that wears the red hooker heels.

And he gets real bitchy if you wear the same shoes. He's all "You stole my look, slut" and I'm all "You don't own this look, whore!" and then he's all "Get off my corner!" and I'm all "Shit, Big Louise was here first and she gave me this corner!"

And then we do that thing where your head wiggles in a circle on top of your neck. Well, he does it; I can't, it makes my neck hurt.

I do the three snaps in a "Z" formation.

Amok! Amokamokamokamokamok! Amok!

Don't worry. Am OK.

Amok!

And now Aimee is proud with me.

I have to drive to the bank (and probably get gas) activate the card,

That's craxy. They can't activate it over the phone?

There is photographic evidence of this.

Don't need no photographic evidence. I was there. Live and in color.

Still...the outfit was incomplete, never mind that you never had both pieces on at the same time.

Still...the outfit was incomplete, never mind that you never had both pieces on at the same time.

???

What was missing?