Vintage, chique, art. His eyes were like fiery poetry, a summer solstice burning like a moth to a flame burned by desire. He had that James Dean, you know, Elvis kind of like. He became my roadside religion, the Clyde to my Bonny... the man I never had growing up.
I have wayfarers and the middle of mine don't look like that
his are lowered
They do like a million different kinds, I think the ones in the photo are a rarer pair cause celebrities always seem to have them but they're rarely in store.
