Sunday, March 13, 2005


(Or, how unshut doors make all the difference.)

I walk into my hairstylist's salon to get a haircut and find a door ajar on the right. It opens into a tiny kitchen where a grizzled old woman and a young moustachioed man are cooking. I don't ever remember seeing a door here, let alone a kitchen, and for a moment think I've entered the wrong house.

circa Feb 16, 2005

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