In that sweltering city I found a firey-orange dress. It had halter straps, a latticed leather waist and a back so low that if I had a tail I could swat people with it.
The dress was gorgeous. And while prancing around the store in it, contemplating a week's poverty in exchange for ownership, I realized something: I could have worn it five years ago.
It fit all right, but I'm different.
I am 24 years old today, and I would like this to be the year I stop pursuing things that are gone, including the blinding glare of teenhood.