I set the shoes on top of the shirt.

“You’re going to look like a woman who strayed off the interstate,” Margaret said.

“That’s exactly the look I’m going for,” I said.

I walked over to a heap of folded accessories on a rusty metal shelf.

I touched my collarbone as I looked over the faded fabrics.

Near the bottom of the stack was a dull brown shawl, badly pilled and worn thin in the middle.

I tugged it loose and laid it over the gray shirt.