^{From the Studio Gardner Collection}

I was able to meet the designer behind the famous label Peachy Couture. I didn't just get to meet her, I was almost murdered by her. I went from homeless woman to celebrity victim in less time than it takes someone to slide down from a Jet plane. Some teased she was a crazy fruit. She was a mysterious hermit and I feel almost honored to have been her monthly muse.

The morning we met she called me her pet peach while stroking my homeless hair - kneeling in my homeless alley. I couldn't believe I was being asked to model for her Peach Couture collection. When I, of course, stuttered a desperate "yes," she snatched my arm.

She was mean and snappy because well, she owned me. She promised me glorious rewards for my good pet behavior. She was sick. She found me just this breakfast and was already serving poison for dessert. The smell of my fear and submissiveness made her peach sundae cream. It had only been an hour and I had already played ear to her auditory masturbation.

Where's that hideous dress thing from - Walmart? she snarled. Target's rear-door trash can, I whispered looking down at the stained hem of my white, over-sized dress. I looked like a homeless ghost in high heels.

I followed her to her office; she barely said a word. I didn't know she planned on killing me. When five o'clock rolled around, she lifted Prada heels from a mahogany desk and stood from her 19th century, executive Yves Saint Laurent chair. Resting her arms on her desk, she scribbled a lunch order on a sticky note and stuck it on my forehead. Grinning madly, she mentioned how cold my trip to the deli would be and that I should wear a warm coat.

She knew I didn't own a coat. Oh, silly me! Here, wear mine... it's my label. Reluctantly I allowed her to help me into the peach-scented leather. After tying its belt snugly around my starving waist she smiled and whispered, you can keep it.

Seriously? I questioned, thinking how much I could get for selling it on the street. Yes, Seriously; now tell me how it makes you feel, she purred grasping a cup of coffee so intensely her knuckles grew white. It makes me feel beautiful and warm I admitted, growing nervous and unsure of her intentions. My empty stomach wept as she salivated over her perverse, full plate of food.

I later discovered I was the second girl tortured by Peaches but the only one to survive. Reports say that this time last year she was seen in an alley. The media chalked it up to her strange, designer ways. They gossiped about how other designers have odd ways to become inspired and failed to see the heinous crime. 

They know they were right and wrong. They may not have figured out she was a murderer, but they had her motivation correct. She used the murder as a psychotic portal of inspiration. The next morning with still bloodied crust on tips she let her fingers walk and created a smash perfume.

She called it:

La' toilet a' De Peachy.

I guess I was the homeless, pretty girl next picked to inspire. It was my month and I thought myself to be the luckiest unlucky person in the world that morning. She could have just told me what to do but she handed me a note and sent me back to my alley way.

I read the note hunched and hungry in the corner:

To: my homeless muse

Details:

• Come back to me at midnight.

• Bring a peach; I might let you eat it

I had to do it. I hadn't had a whole fruit in months. I slept until it was almost midnight and in my usual white, over sized gown and heels I started walking to my now master's building. 

I stole a peach from a street side vendor and noticed I was being followed by a man, with a camera. Perhaps he thought I was on my way to a modeling shoot. Perhaps I thought I was too. He was good at slinking behind bushes and getting silent pictures. I was so hungry I forgot about him.

In such a daze and with such blisters, I nearly passed out when she suddenly appeared outside the building. She held a gun at me and roared with inspiration.

Just then the clouds boomed and it rained a forceful fury of water. She was stunned long enough for my camera man lurker to kick the gun out of her hand... all while snapping what we soon discovered were incredible photographs.

Two especially...

1.The picture that made me rich.

His lens caught my white gown becoming drenched and invisible with every raindrop. It was sensual and artistic. It looked even better that I was in vintage, thrown away heels. I held my homeless chin up and  could see him out of the corner of my eye. We connected like true artists.

It was such a stunning shot and story that Sophia Coppola bought the rights, making us instantly wealthy. I donated several of my millions to help homeless women.

2.The picture of Peaches pointing the gun and attempting to murder someone.

All in all they have found five homeless girls murdered by Peaches. She was sentenced to the electric chair.

That's how to fry peaches.