Thanks," I answered awkwardly, splashing the water on my facein the hopes of being able to turn and go before any more was said."I wish mine was that ...ong," the woman continued, reaching up to twirlone of her short locks. "I just never can manage it, though.Bleaching makes it so brittle, and trying to get past that awkwardmid-length is just so ... bleh." Yeah ..." I agreed without any understanding. My hair had never beenin between. One day it was short, the next long. I'd never bleachedit. I have no idea how long, but the cool balm of the towel is waning.At last, she speaks.“Come to me, David.”As I move towards her, I catch a glimpse of her, leaning back in her chair, legs crossed.For the first time, I realise she is no longer immaculate, as I’ve usually seen her. A wisp of hair hangs over her face, a button is loose on her blouse, her makeup is smudged faintly at the corner of her eye where she has wiped perspiration from her brow.And with it all, she is beautiful, regal,. More

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