The lady who stores stories in her hair tells the best stories you could imagine. The stories in her hair are always alive and always drifting up towards the sun. She reaches two bony hands into the flowing hair web, she pulls out a delicious looking book, she opens the pages and you devour it. Lick your fingers clean of words. Thank her. Beg her for another, another. Another. You ask how she has so many to tell, and she says they are like rabbits, always multiplying themselves.
This is an ink drawing in progress. It is a gift for my nephew Jack.
