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Four YearsBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
We're on the verge of kicking tail feathers.Even though the holidays are upon us, The QB Crew has no intentions of slowing down. Come 2012, we're going to have a whole host of new content, features, and general excitement wrapped up with a pretty bow. We know that our fledglings trust us to bring them the latest in folklore, history, and alternative arts & culture. Start cracking your knuckles and get ready to open one big present. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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Gold Digging Dames Portia and Louise thought they could swing it like high class dames--regular ladies-- with the right rich threads and clicking heels; those drawn-out As in words like 'far'; and a little knowledge of fancy literature, foreign languages, and history's little daties. They'd hit the casino with their nouveau riche charm, wink at deep-pocketed men, and snack on caviar. So they told their hairdresser to skip the hairspray and had their nails lacquered clear. Then those two sneaky gals asked the dry cleaner what was sitting in the Lost and Found. A couple hours of plucking and painting turned Portia into a regular Hollywood dear. Louise nearly drowned in olive oil but ended up looking Country Club bound. Friday night came and those birds put themselves on a bus. When the Greyhound pulled into Atlanta, Portia and Louise strutted into town. No cheap restos or bars for them; they wanted wealthy men with names like Oliver and Gus. At the sight of a casino, they rolled right in, not expecting their plan to turn all muddy and brown. Because two low-lives had thought just like the gals and prowled the casino in their best suits. They talked the dames into their car, stole their pearls, and dumped them on the street like old boots. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Black Lace Writer: Jade Miller Photographer: Luna Lark Model: Angelica Karns QuailbellMagazine.com ___ She stands in front of the house, curious and apprehensive, the sunlight bearing down on her black lace covered shoulders. She had brought her parasol, but it hangs loosely by her side, essentially forgotten. She could imagine the splendor, despite how run down the house seemed now with its blacked out windows and the crack down the front door. The brick face had faded from red to white in some places, but oh, how beautiful it must have been. How decadent the gardens and the parties and the people must have been in their finest.
She takes a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure no one is watching as she approaches the house. She just wants to touch the brick, feel the wood of the steps beneath her feet, understand how her ancestors lived, if even for a moment. She had dressed in one of her best dresses in the morning, feeling a bit foolish at the time, but now, it felt right and like she was honoring those who needed to be honored, the ones who felt forgotten. She may be coming to the party a few generations behind schedule, but being fashionably late is always the height of sophistication. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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