Tiny coffee please.
She could have killed the too-chipper barista commenting on her bare legs - "Honey, it's cold out." No duh.
This combination is the result of a much-too-late night spent trying to forget the "family" dinner just before, one complete with crystal stemware, spoonfuls of caviar, and a seat across from the Goth son of her father's latest divorcée.
Now wandering home against the much-too-early morning backdrop of a modern city's stone ruins.
Furr by Blitzen Trapper.
Photo from: The Sartorialist.
