By Dené Breakfield
It’s senior citizen day at Visions Salon & Apothecary. The baby-faced receptionist reaches beneath the counter, offers me a tiny vial. “The usual, hon?”
By the time my nails are dry, whatever’s in the ruby-red mix takes hold and voila—there’s so much of me I can’t stay put. I’ve got to make the most of it before my edges soften and I vanish into the background again. So off I go, courting the communal gaze of strangers.
I flutter about, madly in love with how everyone makes way for me, how their eyes fix on me like I’m an epiphany.
Very nice. I really liked the last line! I’m wondering exactly what is in the “ruby-red mix.”