Every night I wash my face and examine it to see if I have any new wrinkles. With OCD. So, last night I washed my face and checked it carefully and it was normal and then this morning I woke up and found a three inch white hair growing out of the center of my forehead. Specifically, three. Which is a really weird coincidence. And, yes, I remember my great grandma having those old-lady chin hairs but this is not that, let me assure you. And then I started thinking that horns are made out of the same thing that fingernails and hair are made of and maybe this is just the way I turn into a unicorn. So it was probably just a very limp unicorn horn. You can always braid your chin hairs with beads.

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Permissions : This work is protected by copyright and may be linked to without seeking permission. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Please contact mpub-help umich. For more information, read Michigan Publishing's access and usage policy. She was a little black girl and she hated her hair. But then she had interesting hair.
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It was probably when I first saw a woman who had obviously made her hair gray on purpose. I said to myself, Why would you make yourself old before you have to be old, dumb-ass? Sexy grandma is no longer cutting edge; it reads the way wide-legged denim culottes might next March. But is that the motive? About four years ago, when the trend had passed infancy and was beginning to mature, a friend in her early 30s dyed her lovely silky, estrogen-rich dirty-blonde hair gray. Look, I realize there are women who equate aging with a superbloom of wisdom. These women are all smoking pot right now.
They caught him after he had killed the second man. The law would never connect him to the first murder. It was almost as if, at least on the books the law kept, Caesar had got away with a free killing. Seven months after he stabbed the second man—a twenty-two-year-old with prematurely gray hair who had ventured out of Southeast for only the sixth time in his life—Caesar was tried for murder in the second degree. So at trial, with the weight of all the harm done to him and because he had hidden for months in one shit hole after another, he was not always himself and thought many times that he was actually there for killing Golden Boy, the first dead man. He was not insane, but he was three doors from it, which was how an old girlfriend, Yvonne Miller, would now and again playfully refer to his behavior. Who the fuck is this Antwoine bitch? Caesar sometimes thought during the trial.