Needles and thread collide, the drapes whisper to the chilly windows about the excitement in the air. Hands work in rhythmical motion and a 'classical music sound score' version of an old Morrissey song lilts in the air. Paint is brushed on and eyes concentrate as teeth nibble at rosebud lips. Slowly but surely, a tiny messenger bag tote emerges from the heap of scraps. This lovely bag can hold my mac, my hemingway books, my little Coty-filled powder compacts and Tangee lipgloss plus my textbooks on plato.
Yes, the flag is a teeny bit turned around, but it makes for a pleasant ode.
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