For no reason I can fathom—the storm? my upstairs neighbors?—there is a blonde wig caught on the bars outside my window, just two feet from where I'm sitting right now. It's monstrously creepy. I noticed it as I was walking home from the subway, and I had to study it for a while, trying to figure out if there was any way that a body was attached to this mass of hair. There isn't, of course. But it's still kind of freaking me out.
A picture from my desk:
and from outside:
I tell you, this wig is going to end up in my nightmares. Like, there'll be a doll that comes to life, escapes from the doll factory, and either tries to break into my bedroom or kills herself by jumping off my roof. Erp.