Cherry Cola Confidence
This is Darlene. In 1964, she sold costume jewelry by day and served justice by night—her own twisted version of it, anyway. With a beehive as high as her body count and lipstick as dark as her secrets, Darlene wasn’t someone you crossed twice. The rumor in town was that her ex-fiancé vanished after calling her “high-strung“; one too many times. She told the police she hadn’t seen him since he skipped town... while sipping a cherry cola and filing her nails. This portrait captures her mid-glare—the look right before she decides whether you’re walking away... or being buried under the rose bushes.
This is Darlene. In 1964, she sold costume jewelry by day and served justice by night—her own twisted version of it, anyway. With a beehive as high as her body count and lipstick as dark as her secrets, Darlene wasn’t someone you crossed twice. The rumor in town was that her ex-fiancé vanished after calling her “high-strung“; one too many times. She told the police she hadn’t seen him since he skipped town... while sipping a cherry cola and filing her nails. This portrait captures her mid-glare—the look right before she decides whether you’re walking away... or being buried under the rose bushes.
This is Darlene. In 1964, she sold costume jewelry by day and served justice by night—her own twisted version of it, anyway. With a beehive as high as her body count and lipstick as dark as her secrets, Darlene wasn’t someone you crossed twice. The rumor in town was that her ex-fiancé vanished after calling her “high-strung“; one too many times. She told the police she hadn’t seen him since he skipped town... while sipping a cherry cola and filing her nails. This portrait captures her mid-glare—the look right before she decides whether you’re walking away... or being buried under the rose bushes.