She looked so good walking down the street, jewelry reflecting in the sun, bag swaying at her side. I couldn’t afford a bag like that; never would, never could. She made her makeup and hair look so effortless, as if she were so utterly herself that it was difficult for someone like me, someone who didn’t know who they were, to comprehend. Her shoes cost a month of rent for me. I knew that because I looked them up after she passed me. I waved but she was in a rush. Somewhere important, I’m sure. She’s really someone.

*

After she turned the corner, she heaved a heavy breath. She had succeeded in stealing the shoes, the bag, the necklace, but what next? She was just a poor girl from Kentucky; how could she keep up the look? She hoped she looked the part.