Dear Frankie, the bespectacled girl.

You were hiding shyly behind glossy zine covers on the stand at Tullamarine airport when I found you. You arrested me with your simple stare that made the sophisticated glamour gals smiling their ‘pick me up’ smile around me look desperate. Frankie, what an unpretentious name, I thought. I had just come from the treasure troves of Melbourne laneways, breathless from dancing among the trinkets, and I was longing for something to capture that unadorned beauty for me in case I never came back. Thank you for being that little bottle of goodness.

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