Jimi, Mick, George after the ashram period -- these things are like energy vortexes, made for flamboyant personages, or a Macalester student, as the case may be. All I know is, they caused me to apply the fake brakes on my 10-speed with all due intent (I'm having a bumper sticker made for my ass that says, I brake for embroidery) as I passed Dunn Bros. on Grand. Her friend in Bangalore travels around India, finding grannies and other persons of great skill who can make this carpetbag-weight embroidery, and cobblers to shape it bootwise and, wham bam, they're only sold at street markets in Bangalore.
Works of art worn right, with black and jewelry. Let the records show that I was swaddled in tights, fleece and a down jacket. And of course, a super-Dork bike helmet. Which is why she is laughing.