New York
The last time I saw Melanie, she had a streak of faded pink in her blonde hair and was wearing her uniform Topshop miniskirt with wobbly platform sandals she'd picked up at the Macy's end-of-season sale. So when she attacks me on a crowded corner in New York's Chinatown as soon as I get off the bus, I barely recognize her. Now the pink streak is gone; her hair is dyed dark brown with a reddish tint. She has severe bangs cut across the forehead, and the rest of her hair is secured in a bun with a pair of enamel sticks. She's wearing a weird and funky flowery dress and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots, and she's wearing granny cat-shaped glasses. His lips are painted blood red. She looks amazing, even if she doesn't look anything like my Melanie.
At least when she hugs me, she sti
