There are few fashionable people where I work. Some are doomed, but most are everyday folk, happy to have shopped at the stodgy men’s store downtown or the middling department stores, content to wear orthopedic black tennis shoes that push the line of casual in “business casual.” The few bright spots are young women. One in particular is quite put together, like a perpetual J.Crew model, though much, much thinner. Sometimes when I see her walking the hall, I am struck by the sudden apparition of a well-dressed skeleton approaching. It’s a difficult image to shake off.

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