Day 38

My hair is still damp from the rain and I flick the tips towards a stranger. Where we can powder our noses? we ask you because it is necessary to transform ourselves with carefully placed kirby grips and shiny lips. You start to give directions but your voice fades because your eyes watch an elderly woman who has spilled red wine on her silk dress and has several people pawing unhelpfully at her dress with napkins. We hear her say, Thank you ever so much, laughing so her curls shake like chocolate shavings on a dessert. Follow her, you say.

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