I love fashion but I hate you.



“Nope. Not a one. Five hundred seventy million three hundred sixty two thousand five hundred ninety five cigarettes on the island of Manhattan that morning, and Ronnie had absolutely zero of them. The emptiness of his pockets reached up from his waist and curled around his neck, up near to the little badge of honor that now cinched his left cheek, a small consolation prize from this morning’s little “meet and greet.” He scanned cracks in the streets, read the edges of the skyline, trying to dowse tobacco from the very city herself.

No such luck. But Ronnie’s close readings did pull forth one additional bit of knowledge – dusty, tragic, and hard-earned like ore from sour earth: he also didn’t have his wallet.”

Photo via William Yan.

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