Toddler rustles us awake. Possibly one too many glasses of champagne last night. Flowered dress, low heels for walking, green leopard print socks. Coffee at Hi Volt. Sun already hot an heavy as we make our way down Magazine Street. It moves slowly at 9am, as we do. A man stands on the corned next to some neon that says ‘Kools.’ Blue jeans black tee. We cross the street to stay in the shade. Water drips down from the balconies, soft percussion on pavement. One open sign on the whole block and we take that as an invitation. ‘Goorin Brothers Bold Hatmakers.’ Shelves of beautiful hats stretch to the ceiling in the morning light. Yes, let’s all be bold this morning: first coffee, then hats.

The road to get here was long. It was long, and it wound and wound, and wound. It was one of those small roads- the kind that you can barely see on the map. We skirted the mountains and passed farms where the sun shined down on dilapidated barns, and cows, and on horses manes so that they gleamed. We passed through towns that time didn’t forget, but the people did. We took that road all the way to where we are now.