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The LED-bright stick figure at the street corner has just shifted into the blinking red hand, STOP STOP STOP, but I step into the street anyway. Big mistake.
I chopped off a little piece at first, then more, then more. My hair fell in flat coils on the floor. An ant, scurrying by to God-knows-where, wisely avoided it. My locks, limp and once-long, are plastered flat with sweat against my forehead. I feel lighter. Ifeel free.
The sun's out. I guess I always feel alright when the sun's out. Look at it: the light reflects from someone's mom's dun-grey SUV, bounces onto the sidewalk, catches the slits in the lace-like weeds.