old spice

signs of another time and place. fake marble floors, tile-lined sinks, crinkled wallpaper. she's seven years old, sitting on her father's bathroom counter, looking at herself in the mirror. will i be beautiful? she asks her reflection. will i be successful? she looks at the bottles of pills, the mouthwash, the stick of old spice with its familiar red label. she doesn't know that that's the world she is inheriting. she doesn't understand the normality, the precious normality of regular life. instead she dreams of camera flashes and red carpets and limosines. all these things she hears about and thinks that she will need.