My family wanted nothing to do with me, neither did my friends, but I didn’t need to tell that to a perfect stranger. “I am George by the way.”�...�I’m Sarah.” “Please to meet you.” Instead of doing the customary handshake, he put his hand on my knee and took another sip of his beer. We chatted for a while longer. Mostly about him; I didn’t want to talk about myself. He was recently divorced, forty-two and owned an art store in Santa Fe. He seemed nice enough and I was happy that he didn’t ask too. I hadgrown it long a year ago partly in an act of teenage rebellion and partlyas I wanted to be different to my friends. I rarely paid much attentionto it though, more often than not I would tie it back in a looseponytail, but I had the feeling that today that would just not do.I sat quietly in the chair alongside the others as every few minutes oneof the hairdressers would come and check on my hair, replace a pin orreset a roller. While this was going on, Kerry, who was one of the half adozen. More

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