Walking to college at 6am when the sun is just about to break through the horizon and the city is moments from waking up, I feel like the lady Cardiff, she is mine and mine alone. The skies are soft ashen violet, freshly fallen rain blankets the empty streets, and the unborn dawn begins to blush with a sort of trandescent promise so delicate that I’m afraid my mere recognition might scare it away. It’s a ticklish sense of happiness, one that comes in the form of hushed whispers and suppressed giggles, it’s an inner joy that shows only through the half-upturned corners of this smiling, smiling song.
Before I end this post, I need to indulge my Sartorialist proclivities and show you this picture displaying a triumph in androgyny rivalling that of David Bowie’s. Behold: hair perfectly coiffed, skin flawlessly porcelein, collar of crisp white shirt popped, pin-stripped trousers hiked up to an inhuman waist level and suspended, massive black leather tote, tinted tear-drop sunglasses, and a mastery of the standoffish stride of self-importance so commanding that it granted this (wo)man the power to confidently cross the street mid-traffic while cars screeched to a sudden halt and passbyers stood gazing fear-striken in horror.
Before I end this post, I need to indulge my Sartorialist proclivities and show you this picture displaying a triumph in androgyny rivalling that of David Bowie’s. Behold: hair perfectly coiffed, skin flawlessly porcelein, collar of crisp white shirt popped, pin-stripped trousers hiked up to an inhuman waist level and suspended, massive black leather tote, tinted tear-drop sunglasses, and a mastery of the standoffish stride of self-importance so commanding that it granted this (wo)man the power to confidently cross the street mid-traffic while cars screeched to a sudden halt and passbyers stood gazing fear-striken in horror.
1 comment:
She's beautiful... SEXY!
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