Smack, smack— a leather crop, a long forelock, a dressage dance diagonally across the ring; the focused arch of the horse’s neck and that pause of improbable air between crossed steps…Shaken out of this memory, she heard someone in the hotel lobby address her. Oh, yes, the key to room No. 68. She felt the weight in her pocket, realizing she had been stroking the tassel unknowingly in the silk cradle of her pocket lining. One can’t underestimate the quiet relief of anonymity; of being in a temporary space designed for everyone and no one at the same time, the quiet hum of a hundred lives in their glowing or dark boxes surrounding, but this little box of a room was for her, for the night. Wet combed hair soaked into the back of her robe. She continued to pet the small tassel, like a talisman, or a small companion. What a peculiar thing, she thought about an old friend, to look at home everywhere, and to make a home nowhere. A long time ago she had suggested an idea for a stage prop: an orange with a black tassel hanging from it; a mix of life and things that can rot, but attached to a decorative and somewhat permanent classical element, as if the orange would also last, like a small, plump purse…. “An orange with a tassel,” he laughed.“What an absurd thing.” 

Keychains are made of Horse Hair, Brass, and Vintage Italian Glass Beads.