when you’re young, you live in a kind of narnia world
where ideals are seen through the lens of a prism of hope fresh from god
or the other; depending
but one of my absolute favorite memories are of those places with memories attached
I think of 163rd street where my idol cousin worked. It was one of many jobs she had before the fashion model offers and the Bunny Club by Hijalea —I watched the credit card machine as she stood behind the desk in her cool hip clothes from the shop. Everything there was only black and white. They sold no other colors. Skirts were just black or white. Shirts the same. Then one day they introduced a splash of color. Each month they just featured one new color. Fuchsia. Yellow. Orange. Chartreuse. Puce. The front store window displayed were mesmerizing
Vazcaya grounds for the performance of a ballet company my dance teacher was hoping to be in future training me for. She invited the family with paid tickets in hopes of this but we saw the most remarkable display in those gardens. I was so touched by the magic. So grateful she gave this to me to see.
Bal Harbour I always liked and way then down to the beach down Lincoln Road, the smell of the ocean in the air
I remember the groves. Miles and miles of orange groves. They went on forever.
As a child I remember visiting the places who grew them. Orange Julius. Orange blossom perfume.
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