“But it had been awhile since his last redhead, since he’d been flattered by any beautiful woman. These days were different days. There was something technical about them, undistinctive. You couldn’t tell the scientists from the vandals. You could order viruses through the mail- pathogens, toxins, what have you. A clever schoolchild could wipe out all the bees in a meadow during recess. They were breeding rhinos with no horns to make them less desirable. “
Joy Williams The Quick And The Dead. 2000
LARGE PRINT INTENDED:
When I was born, I was a redhead. So said my mother, who should know, as she was there. More colours came later. A veritable rainbow. I’ve always had good hair, joking that my ancestors traded good hair for a lousy cardiovascular system. Can I prove this claim? At my age, we are allowed to exaggerate. Do your own research, bud.
Lately, in the Canadian fashion, I am going for the silver, mind you, not all over, just enough to be distinguished, as in “When we say someone is distinguished, we're expressing respect for them, as in "that hairstyle makes you look quite distinguished"
Usually, someone distinguished is older. And I can identify with older. Of course anything past being born is older. It’s just a question of degree. But good things come to those who wait. Apparently, somebody wrote me a song. You may have heard it before.
I’ve been listening to that damned song for the last 54 years, as it came out in 1968, and I came out in 1958.
You know which song I speak of goes like this:
When I'm sixty-four”
Send me a postcard, drop me a line!
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say.
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