Gallery of the Dead

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Linda Parker stepped into her two-bedroom house in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, closed the door behind her and let go of a heavy, tired breath. It’d been a long and busy day. Five photoshoots in just as many different studios scattered all across town. The work itself wasn’t that tiring. Linda loved modeling and she was lucky enough to be able to do it professionally, but driving around in a city like LA, where traffic was slow-moving at the best of times, had a special way of exhausting and irritating the most patient of souls.

Linda had left home at around seven thirty that morning and by the time she parked her red VW Beetle back on her driveway, the clock on her dashboard was showing 10:14 p.m. She was tired and she was hungry, but first things first.

‘Wine,’ she said to herself as she switched on her living-room lights and kicked off her shoes. ‘I so need a large glass of wine right now.’

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