i watched a video of sixteen year old you. i immediately recognized your arms, your stubby fingers, your squint. you were obviously aware of the camera on you. you did that fake yawn/stretch you always did when you were uncomfortable or nervous in an attempt to feign boredom.
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i went with my coworker, ruthy, to an indian beauty salon. she got her eyebrows threaded, a strange technique where a piece of string is pressed against the brow with enough pressure to pop a hair out by the root. "it grows in slower, and less thick," she explained to me. "it's an ancient tradition," the lady who was performing the threading on my friend told me. i casually thumbed through Self magazine and watched the other technicians, for lack of a better word, discuss amongst themselves whether to get subway or burger king for lunch.
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