As the crow screeches, I step down the stone steps with a quiet and quick pace.
Quickly I turn like a novel dancer and slam the old gate door behind me.
Its tune matches the crow.
With a nod and twist, I continue my walk.

 
 
If you're a late 90s/early 2000s kid like myself, I'm pretty sure the two of us would have
 had a playdate consisting of watching Country Mouse, City Mouse whilst
 munching on Anne's mac and cheese.

 
 
Okay, I totally just made that up right now but seriously . . .
Society these days seem to be infected with a virus known as the cell phone . . .

 
 
Yesterday I wore my pillbox hat from Sur La Tete, along with my vintage black
gloves (belonged to my grandmother), my black flats, and my professional-looking blue
dress from Coldwater Creek
. . . Let's just say the elderly enjoyed my look while the middle-age construction
worked along Van-Ness looked at me as if I was the Mad Hatter. . . 

 
 
I trust that you all know that I am a French fanatic. 
So I suppose it was only natural that I went to Georgetown's French Market for the second time!

 
 
In case you did not know, I am absolutely in love with CW's "The Carrie Diaries".
The weird thing is though, I kinda feel like Carrie Bradshaw sometimes.

 
 
Oh tulip tree, you could have fooled me . . .

I almost mistakenly took your white flower pedals as snow but then I saw them fall as small, growing green leaves begin to take their place and I remembered that I was walking in 90 degrees weather . . .

And yes, spring hasn't officially been around for even month!!!

 
 
Pac Man? 
Count me in!
This is my kind of black and white photography.
(Loving the cat eye glasses as well!)
Maybe it's my vintage nogalista hitting me again, but I really want to find an authentic 50s diner or 80s arcade in Washington DC and just hang out there for a couple of hours.

 
 
Since I live and go to school in Washington DC, I suppose it's only natural that I frequently find myself surrounded by the style that is adapted by hipsters.  
. . . Let's just say I find their whole label a joke . . .