I am fashion.
I am changing.
I regenerate.
I die.
I envelope you,
I am holding you,
You move on from me.
I am discareded.
On a cold day, I am holding the homeless.
One a summer day, months since those homeless people have risked frost-bite,
Young money has re-connected with me, for a hobo-chic look.
I am now reborn, and trashy.
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