Black and white and black, they fall upstairs to Better Dresses, where I spot them later fingering cocktail silks. The short one wears wire rims like a double yoke; the taller one wears amber freckles whose color comes and goes. They are still young; they laugh in unison discreetly through Lingerie and up a flight past Furs and Leather, Domestics and Layettes and out of sight, all white and black and white.© Rhina P. Espaillat
Previously featured in Yankee.