The title of this entry makes me think I should write a poem about my comb.
I couple of years ago I was on a trip and realized that I´d forgotten my brush at home. I went to a pharmacy to buy a new one and decided to get something lighter and smaller so I bought a comb. The only comb they had was made of hard plastic that seemed a little brittle but I bought it anyway. At some point during my travels, the comb broke in half. Filled with environmental guilt, I kept the larger half and tossed the rest instead of just replacing the comb.
Well, today, two of the six prongs of my half comb fell out leaving me with a wide-tooted four-prong comb. Unfortunately, this had to happen when I´m in the most remote of locations. There is no way I can get a replacement now.
Between the brackish water and my lame excuse for a comb I may very well return with dreadlocks.
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