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Haircut | Nov 27 2002

Again with the silence. A woman across the aisle reminds me of my ex-girlfriend, which reminds me of a different ex-girlfriend. A terrible realization: They are all my ex-girlfriend. Even M is, I fear. I see the clouds. I see a man stepping over a train track. I saw him. He stepped over and kept walking. He wore a jacket. I thought he gestured with his hand. It’s exhausting. From whence come the rocks and stones that lie between the rails? The woman across the aisle suddenly stood and walked past. I recognized her! She’s a friend of my sister! Sadly, she’s not much taller than a dwarf. Or perhaps I mean midget. Whichever I mean, I mean the one whose proportions are correct. She also has (or had) a lisp. I met her at my sister’s once. I felt bad because of her height and her lisp, then felt bad for feeling bad. Pity is ugly. From behind just now I liked her haircut. The way I remember it, her fingers are shorter than they should be, even for such a small person. Her haircut, however, is outstanding; it is the best possible haircut. I don’t think she saw me when she passed. You might think she did and was ignoring me, but I doubt it. I saw her scan the window for something. It is better this way. I am afraid I’ve either missed my stop or am on the wrong train. Sex didn’t work last night with M. She said (this is apropos of nothing), “I want you to get contacts more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” We laughed. I was lying on top of her when she said it and the laughter made me roll off.