When Clara stepped back out onto the street, the rain was still falling, colder than before. She held the giant shopping bag close to her chest, shielding it from the drops with her own body. She had no idea how she was going to pay for her car, or what she would tell her practical-minded friends.
Clara walked deeper into the store, her boots clicking softly on the stone. The sales associates were quiet, moving like well-dressed ghosts among the displays. And then, she saw it.
"Brushed leather," the woman said, slipping on a pair of white cotton gloves before lifting the bag from its pedestal. She held it out. "It has structure. It holds its shape, no matter what you put inside." buy prada handbags
She was tired of being practical. She was tired of being the girl who saved for a rainy day while standing in a downpour.
But as she walked toward the subway, her chin was up, her shoulders were square, and for the first time in a very long time, Clara felt absolutely untouchable. When Clara stepped back out onto the street,
"It suits you," the sales associate said quietly. "A classic investment."
The process was a blur of ritual. The swiping of the card, the wrapping of the bag in a soft sleeping bag of white dust-cloth, and finally, placing it inside the massive, thick-paper shopping bag with the black cord handles. Clara walked deeper into the store, her boots
Clara hesitated, then took a breath and reached out. She slipped her arm through the double handles.