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March 24, 2014
Dry, brittle hair in the hazy sun. Like a man spent thinking. Doesn't get out much, socially attributed to the climate. Clumps of hair in places. He took a shower before bed, and the wet split ends dried in his cotton pillow. Two pillows together is a place to read. There wasn't much left to his name. Yet. But his experiences have been unique. Don't miss the bus to corporate america, she said, speaking in general terms. With a fever o 103. And then he smiled, laughing at something nonsensical. His eyes alight, probing for the meaning of another man.