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“It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year which makes my eyes feel sore.”
Among all the clutter of the Factory, the sprawling chrome and the many shots Marilyn Monroe sat a little black and white photograph, taped to the wall. It had been cut from the newspaper a while ago, a picture of Andy in his black leather holding hands with a girl in chrome. They were gazing at each other lovingly, obviously in deep conversation. It was Edie. She who must not be named. She who had been replaced by Nico. Edie Sedgwick.
Andy didn’t seem to want to talk about it any more. He turned away from the picture and flashed the girl a smile.
“Come along, I’ll introduce you to Lou and the Velvets. Where’d you get those shoes? They’re absolutely divine.”














