A string of cherries worn around the neck.
A vague attempt at recapturing some age of innocence.
Some cheap costume notion, made of plastic but no less shiny or statement-inducing.
Reminiscent of a time that’s probably only more innocent in our minds.
People were bad in the 1950’s too, they just didn’t talk about it as much. It was shuffled away in a billowing skirt and a wrist of colorful baubles. Drowned in Manhattans and martinis – smaller in size, perhaps, but more plentiful in number. It only feels different. The numbness goes back centuries.
If there wasn’t purity in those cherries, there was some small bit of power. The power of prettiness. The currency of being cute. The exchanges we barter for beauty.
Oh, this silly thing? Why, thank you. I found it at a vintage shop. It was a palm of pennies! How could I refuse? It makes me happy, if only for a moment. What else is there? But for those moments…
