The place was a public market with rows of shops and stalls and places to eat. The sandwich girls were arriving for their shift. One of them knew me by sight. She told me that I had some tissue in my hair then reached for it helpfully. She removed a dusty tangle of hair. That's not a tissue, that's a hairball, I said. Some passerbys were now watching with amusement. A poor old fat guy fading away, the sandwich girl said to them.
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