So the super-calafragilistic-espialadocious stylist at
my neighborhood salon, Keith, walked up to damp haired me during a particularly busy pre-Fourth of July Thursday evening stretch and remarked, "You have a beautiful mane." He added, "It's inspiring." Then my extra-professional and no-nonsense stylist Eric flat-ironed and layered my hair for free to my great surprise in return for me picking up some Ledisi tickets for him a few weeks back. I was bone tired and hadn't eaten all day but it gave me enough energy to see my cousin off at her going away party in the meatpacking, for a few minutes at least. I tried to banter from my perch at the end of the baquette but I couldn't hear anything and I was too tired to yell small talk. They tried their best to integrate me into the fold but I slurred my anecdotes like I'd been drinking and sounded a hot mess. I'm pooped.
PS-
"Wanted" was kind of wack.
