the paddington girl is running late
she's late. not very late — paddington late. keys in one hand, gloss in the other, a polaroid sliding out of the side pocket.
the bag
a black paddington, the padlock still swinging. it's heavy before she puts anything in it, and she puts everything in it.
the lips
a whole system. limitless brown by makeup forever to line her lips, a tiny bit of cairo by nyx in the middle, summer fridays brown sugar pressed over the top to mix it all.
summer fridays cherry for the days she can't be bothered with three steps.
the scent
cosmic by kylie cosmetics. non-negotiable.
the camera
a canon g7x, and a stack of polaroids she hasn't sorted yet. every one is a memory she isn't ready to put in a drawer.
the pages
a lace-covered journal with a pen clipped to it. the to-do list, the agenda, and the iris, all in the same handwriting.
the keys
house keys on the genesis top keychain. car keys on a ring of charms, none of which match, yet are so cool.
the rest
a vintage miu miu wallet. cash, just in case. a claw clip. gum. a leopard lighter. tampons, always prepared.
and a tiny jesus. he loves you. she likes the reminder.
the one thing she'd turn around for
the pack of gum.
she wore irissale with
the genesis in tiger's eye, low-rise jeans, and the shoes she should have changed out of an hour ago.
Irissale, ethically handmade in los angeles with lots of love.
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