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Devon

Devon has a small deciduous forest on his scalp and shoulders.

“It’s called dendropecia,” he says honestly to anyone with the courage to ask. “It’s a rare condition, but it has its perks. After all, when I go bald I know it’ll all be back in the spring!” And they laugh together, because he’s given that permission.

Until, one day, his interlocutor doesn’t laugh with him. “But don’t you spend the day in heated rooms?” she asks.

“Well,” he says, “yes.”

“Then why make that joke?”

“I don’t know,” he says, trying not to stare at the raincloud above her head.

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