The alarm clock rang as Ginger reached over and turned it off. She walked out of bed and put a Benny Goodman record in the antique record player, Showtime. She then went into the bathroom and started the morning off by removing the pins from her hair, washing her face and applying red lipstick, rogue, and tons of mascara, then taking the mass of curls and pinning half back out of her face. She took the new dress she finished sewing last night and put it on and admiring her creation in the mirror. The dress matched her lipstick and was an exact replica of the dress she seen in an old Coca-Cola ad in her grandmother’s old magazines. She finished up by putting on her nylons and saddle shoes that used to be her grandmothers when she was her age. She flipped the player off and was out the door.

Even though the music was off, the tune was still going in her head as she walked to school. She hummed to herself ignoring the cat-calls coming at her from student drivers and practicing dance moves as she walked. She was in her own world, hell for all she cared she was living in 1939

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