I see you, Girl. You are riding your bike to work and you are wearing light-blue cropped palazzo pants and a fitted white shirt with some sort of crochet-lace design but it looks fresh and cool and not like an old lady at all. And on your feet you are wearing rust-colored suede sandals with a chunky little heel, like they came out of the ’70s to meet you here on this fine Los Angeles summer morning. Your lipstick matches your shoes in a way that is freaking me out.
On your head is the brightest, sunniest yellow helmet, it’s not quite neon, but it’s not lemon either—it’s brighter than canary. It is the yellow marker color of my dreams. I would draw a hundred suns with it if I was in elementary-school art class and in the habit of drawing suns. And then the last best thing: You have no basket, you are swerving in and out of L.A. traffic on your bike and you look so strong and stylish and just awesome like you have WON life this day, like it is yours to own, and on your back, carrying all of your possessions, is a brown and pink floral backpack that is earthy and fun and practical all at the same time and makes me think: Why would we ever carry any other kind of bag when backpacks are so PERFECT?