Photographs by:
Nina Berman
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But no. My daddy, he held my hand tight when we approached, walking fast past them, keeping me on the outside, keeping me away. I would try to turn my head, hoping to get a glimpse at their lipstick ...
... so different from my mother's, and their short skirts and big curls and chain belts. How I wanted to break from my father's grip and run to them, just to stare, or maybe to touch them.