She had not seen a hair salon in eight weeks and so she looked, despite her hipster clothing, disheveled or maybe dangerous. She looked like a poet.
Hair appointment. New fan belt. Groceries. New job. She had a long list of needs over which she regularly obsessed. She'd get the fan belt next week when she got paid. She drove her Nissan into the strip mall. She passed The Dollar Store and Wig Land then pulled up to the salon that was on Baseline and 48th Street in Phoenix. Where are the cars? she wondered and then saw the broken glass in front of the store. The window had been shattered and no one was inside.
She called Gwen, her hairstylist, on the phone. "I'm in front of Just Your Style and no one is here," she said.
"I thought I told you," Gwen said. "I'm across the street now. Just Your Style closed last week."
She drove across the street to a strip mall next to a Circle K. She felt disoriented. She was in a new salon with new people and new smells.
She sat in Gwen's swivel chair and buried her face in her book. Minutes later, a tall man walked in. Gwen said something to him about his teeth which looked too perfect in his mouth. His locked hair swung as he walked.
"You know who that is?" Gwen said to her.
"No, I don't."
"That's Fitzgerald from the Cardinals. Larry Fitzgerald?"
She looked up from the pages in her book. "The Cardinals?" she asked.
She'd figure it out later. Arizona was in the Superbowl! She'd tell her boyfriend, hoping to make him jealous. "Guess who I saw today."
"Who?" her boyfriend would ask.
"Flanagan!" she'd say.