A cream-over-silver brocade coat dress with gunmetal pumps and matching leather bucket bag.
That’s the look. The. Look. Alissa stands in front of the shop window dreaming herself in that outfit, which earrings, what hair style, ignoring for a moment the sadness of reality.
In that outfit, just about anything would be possible, could be true. She would work in a classy, upscale office with Herman Miller desk chairs and Roche-Bobois leather in the conference room. She would walk quickly, her heels clicking the pavement, a folded newspaper under her arm and a tall coffee in her hand. No one would ever question the things she said, no one would dismiss her. She would have a voice in a deep alto like melted chocolate and a laugh that turned every head.
Cream-over-silver brocade. Those gunmetal pumps. Just metallic enough to look like money, not trash.
She closes her eyes to lock in the memory and walks away, her crepe soles silent on the pavement.