In my mind, I often do a fair imitation of a 1930's hits the 60's wisp of a thing: new to the city, with a throaty, smoky voice that belies both my years and my lucent eyes. my bangs dip and swirl like a mask, like a flirtation, and my reed-like legs look gamine and nimble like a fawn's as I traipse across the cityscape to my next rooftop, black market, underground, 100% thrifted bizarre bazaar nu country gig.
What? That's HER doing all those things, not me?
Shee-it.
www.sallyjanevintage.blogspot.com
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment