Alas, I tried to prevent fly-always by tying a knot that could stay taut in the face of windier and windier days—as a sort of method of mithridatism, but the path of snapped twigs and branches on which my shoes crunched rang as a bellwether in my mind, verifying that strewn hairs would be expected affairs sans an immediate intervention, so I ad-libbed a fix with the same band plus a few moist finger licks as—bish-bash-bosh—a French braid materialised to salve the blusterly-blown-hair day I refused to have. ; )

Categories: Melange

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