I miss the way my grandmother exuded vintage class. She always had her face perfectly done with rosy cheeks and sassy red lips. The way she smelled like flowers and fresh-brewed coffee. But most of all, I miss the way she bundled her permed hair in a silk scarf whenever the Los Angeles sun hid behind grey clouds for a light autumn drizzle. The palm tree lined Hollywood streets would sway in the wind and I swear no starlet could ever look as regal and beautiful as her.

© J.G.


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