Miss MacDonald turned the chair, pointing her to a mirror on the glass counter. Helga was right. Miss MacDonald was right. The girl Tammy saw did not...look like a happening chick. She had on a bouffant. Definitely not 1966; more like pre-Beatles and the British Invasion. It was for those who thought that Philadelphia was still a center of pop culture. "Isn't it hot under all that hair?" asked the young girl in thick, black glasses and in boy's jeans and shirt, her elbows resting on the other. Whether it was a woman, a business deal, or something else, he always got his way. But for some reason, this time, he felt somehow uncertain. As if he hadn't gotten quite the deal he'd bargained for. Annoyed at himself for this unfamiliar self doubt, he shook his head, and left the store with his new purchase. The Old Man stared as Donald left the store, almost feeling sorry for him. Almost. The Old Man reminded himself that Donald was to blame, and deserved whatever was coming to him. After. More

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