I was ten when Elvis came along. I sang his songs in front of the mirror. I imitated his smile, raising the corner of one side of my mouth. I tried to move like him, rotating one leg from the hip. And I tried to comb my hair like him. I used Vitalis, Butch Wax, Brylcream, separate and together, pulling the comb through my hair and seeing little white globules of grease ooze between the teeth. Once I dove into a swimming pool, swam the entire length underwater, and surfaced at the other end without a hair out of place. Hair. In thirteen years it would be musical. (FROM AN AMERICAN STORY)
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