During my last trip to the modernist style and stale starch smelling University Heights library, I picked up a book of Frida Kahlo's letters. One of her letters to a former lover mentions the painting "Suicide of Dorothy Hale". Dorothy's husband had passed away in a car accident leaving her broke and with an already failing stage career. She threw a party at her luxury high-rise, wrote some notes, had one last swig of vodka and put on a dress and corsage and jumped.
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