The slush of February turns the pavement into a gray soup, but it can’t dampen the shimmer of beaded silk peeking out from beneath heavy wool coats. I adjust my viewfinder on a young woman in a cloche hat who has quite the crush on her own reflection in the department store window.
She's clutching a brand-new Raggedy Andy to her chest, the coarse red yarn of its hair contrasting sharply against the smooth rayon of her drop-waist dress. I catch the shutter click just as she adjusts her T-strap heels, the cold wind biting at her bobbed hair.
Memories from that day
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