THE DEVIL OF MY HAIR

It occurred, at a game of American baseball. I was sitting and watching with the other people who were sitting, and watching. The ball flew over the green field. Into the stands. People – clamoured, positioning themselves. The ball descended … and descended. And …

I caught it. Though not, with my hands. With my hair. Anticipating, it would seem, the ball, my hair shaped itself into a glove sort of shape, and catched it. Beg your pardon, caught it. This was to the distress of the aficionados, and the clearly dying children.

Understand that it was not my intention to catch the ball. I am not especially interested in the game of American baseball. Yet in the eyes of the aficionados, and the hollow eyes of the children, I was Satan or a other devil-figure. My attempt to give the ball to one of the last – lacked success. My hair would not permit it. It switched itself into a cage sort of shape, safeguarding the ball. “This is surely unintentional,” I said. The aficionados, if they heard me, I don’t believe, they believed.

A scene, was imminent. And this was when the slow man, the man with lengthy arms, hoisted me out of the stands, and set me onto the street. Though the game was not yet finished.

I received no refund.

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