Hair is a twisted brain fungus. What you don't see, at night, are the
tiny growing spores. Girls with split ends think they're damaging their
hair with harsh products and heat — actually, their hair has fruited and
the sacs have burst and the spores released, vanished on their mysterious
errands.

Lying in bed one night, I suddenly began to have thoughts that were not
mine, and this jolted me fully awake with a start — just under a veil, a
membrane, the black behind my eyelids, was a self-consistent world full
of regular, casual, causal events I'd just been remembering which was not
my own. And then I remembered that the pretty girl downstairs leaves her
window open all night, as do I.