It started 1 summer-sunny October day while carrying a basket o’ work shirts to the washer. With no time to go back inside — or maybe she just didn’t want to — she just wrote the 1st word she thought o’ — a gorgeous word full o’ syrup — onto her T-shirt.
Then it crept. Words would come to her mind, & she would add them after the previous word, till she had noted down so many words that she ran out o’ room on her T-shirt & had to move on to her jeans, & then had to buy new clothes after new clothes.
Her agent was bewildered when he received Levi’s manuscript & instead received piles o’ wrinkled clothes, each full o’ intricate black squiggle patterns.