Squatting, her movement unguarded, unscripted. A cigarette dangles from her lips, tendrils of smoke curling upward - a clandestine ritual, a moment, frozen in the interregnum of glamour and fatigue. Under the glossy veneer of perfection, how many actually wonder about the real human being deep within?
The Backstage
Squatting, her movement unguarded, unscripted. A cigarette dangles from her lips, tendrils of smoke curling upward - a clandestine ritual, a moment, frozen in the interregnum of glamour and fatigue. Under the glossy veneer of perfection, how many actually wonder about the real human being deep within?