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Mirth-filled fingers shape freshly shorn fringe. “Re-memm-bur that sign? When we lived and walked in the city —?”
Nia pulls an image of a small salon with huge front windows from her mind’s filing cabinet. “I am a beautician, not a magician.”
“I think we’ve been truly blessed…” Cal brushes wildflower dust from her palm, “with stylists who are both… yes, and!”
Even geniuses can get things wrong.
Look at Einstein’s unfortunate choice of a hairdresser.
~ Joss Stirling