In the office, she wrote everything on yellow paper: legals pads, while-you-were-outs, carbon copies, and sticky notes. Her eyes, so accustomed to the faded yellow of her workdays, had difficulty ... [+]
when your hair tickled your shoulders and a widow in a floral
cardigan wrinkled her nose, patted your crown, and mis-
proclaimed, "such an interesting girl." It's the same carelessness
attending other glances, when lights merge to beams and starfish
mask as stones, grinding and bumbling surf through the foam.
"They can't run or walk," you sighed. "So they just dance."