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For her there were only two times: dawn and dusk.

At dusk she would take her insomnia to the old post office. She was dead tired of striving and crisis! She wanted to live in the land of Blake-light and emptiness, of PO boxes stuffed with gold doubloons, of civic hallways in which only her footfalls echoed back.

For her, the illogic and moral relativism of fairy tales had long felt true to life. The bony witch is named Esmerelda. You will find a cat that will try and scratch your eyes out–you must give it some ham. You will find hounds that will try and eat your feet–you must feed them some rolls. Having her expectations upended is what kept her moving.

Forward, backward, under, over. She had been waiting her whole life for something good to happen from which there would be no turning back.

“The creative struggle, my heart to your cause,” his text message read.

Hands were both alien and sexy. She worried she could not focus on more than one thing. She could either sleep or await his letter.

The deep lines in her face were from looking away. Suddenly, they were getting shorter. When his letter arrived it wasn’t a letter at all but a wax cylinder. There were two short lyrics penned on the plain brown wrapper: “They blew on the wax while I was singing. They blew on it and my voice stayed.”

Photography by Bethany Walter

hand of Fatima necklace: Morocco; batik skirt: vintage 70s, Jakarta; cashmere tanktop: charity shop, London; ballet flats: J. Crew; gold ring: who knows

 

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Last week when I was thrift store shopping I found a grandmother’s vintage rose robe. And this week I was inspired to pair it with Jessica Simpson platform spiked heels.

Thrift store
Anthony’s vintage grandmother’s robe
worn as dress
Red leather belt

Dillards
Jessica Simpson platform spiked heels

Armor Bijoux
Afghanistan jingle vintage necklace
Large silver vintage Afghanistan cuff

Photographer: Marcus Pierce

Happy Friday!

 

 

 

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It’s not that I haven’t committed any crimes……I have. In fact, Anna the teenager was quite the sneakster. My friends and I crept around our one horse town engaging in all manner of illicit activities. But as I said, I was sneaky – never got caught. Either that, or I was lucky……

 Either way, when we at Story Story Night decided last Monday’s Late-Night theme would be “crime”, I donned my best double-agent outfit – jet black, turtlenecked, snug-as-a-glove Calvin Klein knit dress and sling-back black heels with an “I’ll smash your face with it if you get too close” bracelet of antique silver beads from Armor Bijoux and headed to VaC fully prepared to tell a tale of crime. But not my crime.

Since my name was not selected at random from our guest host, Josh Gross, I have decided to tell my story here. It goes like this:

My stepdad was one hell of a working man. Charley did everything – your classic contractor renaissance man. When I was growing up, I went with him to many a job site, most of which were “quaint” second homes tucked in amongst the pines lining Payette Lake.

antique tribal jewelry One client in particular will always stick with me – we’ll call them the Smith’s. Mr. and Mrs. Smith, who used their cabin perhaps a dozen times per year, had been hiring Charley to do odd jobs for years. Then one day they stopped calling. It had been six months or so when he finally decided to stop by their place and attempt to unravel the mystery. Turns out, it was a pretty easy one to solve.

When he drove up, he was greeted by a crew of four or five migrant workers. It didn’t take much to put this puzzle together – the Smith’s had replaced him with a crew of folks who would work for whatever they could get, which he soon found out through using his limited Spanish skills was collectively much less than they were paying him.

Well, he stewed over this for a few days, and then it happened – he hatched the perfect plan. On a Friday afternoon, he drove to the Smith cabin, told all the workers to call it a day and invite their families over – he was going to throw them a barbecue!

See, Charley knew the Smith’s were planning to have a party soon, so there would be plenty of cheer in the fridge – spiral cut ham, lamb shanks, filet mignon, veggies galore, and all the fancy wine and beer a thirsty, jilted man could hope for. It was indeed quite the party spread, and they all feasted together, having themselves a lovely time. Gracias, Mr. and Mrs. Smith!

Needless to say, Charley never heard from the Smith’s again, but he did make some new friends….small price to pay for a stellar story and a belly full of excellent food with a hint of retribution, if you ask me.

Most photos by Whitney Rearick, some by yours truly.

 

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