When my mother was a teenager, she had a black-and-gold jacket. It was old and ratty, and my grandmother hated it. My mother, however, liked the jacket. It had a tear in the lining which was the perfect size for her to hide a fifth of alcohol in, unbeknownst to her mother.
One day, my grandmother decided to dispose of the infernal jacket. Knowing that my mother would try to retrieve it, my grandmother didn't throw it away. Instead, she burned it.
Thus ended the life of the black-and-gold jacket.
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