I sat in an all-day meeting staring into the whorls of my coworker's hair wondering what expert motion brought it to nest there, looped with a single plum-colored tie in its loose bun. The motion brought to mind the winding stems on wristwatches and I considered for a moment what it would take to make a wristwatch out of hair. Without a tick, with hardly a sound, the mass of months wound up and kept in place by a single rubber band, clean and cared for, the day's shadow passing through the median of her highlight's soft annuli, marking the time.
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