If like me, you have a penchant for drop-crotch jeans and ethnically-inspired bath robes cloaks and (in a funny sort of circumstance that Alanis Morissette might categorize as "ironic") you grew up in the country, you were either a) shot, b) the victim of an "accidental" tractor hit-and-run, or c) married off to one of your numerous third cousins with the intention of locking down your "charming eccentricities" until complete eradication was achieved.
Luckily I got out before experiencing any of the above. And upon my recent visit to the country from Montreal, I was surprisingly not shot by one of my John-Deere driving, long-barrelled-gun toting neighbours, but rather, was shot through the lens of my brother's camera, being all freaky deaky fashion-y on the dock. Neighbours stared. It's okay. I am a bona fide rural reject.
Cloak - Vintage
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