The old man showed me a back room, where there was a laundry basket of things left behind by other women. Sequined bras. A tube of red lipstick. A hairbrush. An old bottle of Giorgio that had been refilled with water to try and soak up leftover scent. Four-inch red heels, size nine. &...
It may appear to be a cool October morning, filled with the whispers of a coming winter, and turn out to be a hot Indian summer day. The black of night may fade into a cool purplish navy before bursting into a warm butterscotch sky. It’s an hour of indecision. The first yawn and stretch of a new ...