Kelly was a refugee from art school; she worked in the photo lab with me for a few months. There were a lot of people in and out during that time: lots of jobs available, not much chance of advancement in the photo biz, therefore: easy come, easy go. While she worked there she did throw a party with music and a good mix of people. It was held in a very nice 1920s architect-designed house located in what was now a sketchy neighborhood which had seen better days.
The flow of the party had definitely ebbed when Kelly began to read to us. Not poetry but pornography. It was some classic, literate, porn. It may have been The Story of O. Kelly proved herself to be an excellent interpreter; we were spellbound.
A short time later Kelly and her husband left the city for a life on a dairy farm in rural Minnesota.
It is unknown if she reads to her cows.