Everyone whispered about the way she parted her hair, but no one had the courage to talk to her. If they had any guts to open their mouths and utter the truth, she would have realized it looked stupid. No one wore her hair like that anymore, not unless you wanted strangers pointing at you. This is what I did when I saw her bending over. She had dropped her keys on the sidewalk. As a joke, I kicked them out of her reach. Not knowing who the leg belonged to, she stood and faced me. Her eyes were the most unfriendly, but I deserved it. She spit in my direction. I called her a giraffe. She was tall. I imagined her long tongue trying to reach me. I told her I was doing her a favor, that I had guts. She slapped me and that was the beginning of our mutual understanding. We were not destined to ever become acquaintance and surely not friends by how things were going. I am a jerk. She was too. On top of her poorly parted hair, her clothes were worse. I kept at it, following her to the bus station. I had no intention of doing this. She would thank me later for what I had done. They always do, even the ones who did not have the guts to tell her the facts.
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