A Four-Dollar Worn Shawl to Wear to Belle Meade

The thin wool smelled faintly of cedar and old dust.

It hung low over my collarbone, hiding the shape of my neck and shoulders.

I carried the faded canvas grocery tote by its thick woven handles.

Inside the dark fabric, my phone sat sealed tight in the thick plastic of a waterproof phone sleeve.

I pressed my thumb on the button through the stiff plastic one final time to make sure the recording app was running.

The red timer glowed faintly at the bottom of the bag, counting every second.