Purple Weave

by Eric Spitznagel

My brother-in-law found a purple weave in the bushes outside his house. He lives in Oakland and claims such things aren't uncommon - the streets of his neighborhood are littered with random pieces of clothing, as if the locals start undressing the moment they leave work and are naked by the time they get home - but to an outsider like myself, a discarded weave might as well be a flying saucer. I stand on his front lawn for most of the morning and stare at it, poking at the brightly-colored wig with a stick, wondering how it came to end up there, and if the original owner has been searching for it or if she (I assume it's a she) feels naked without it. Several months later, the purple weave is still there, unclaimed by the commuters who pass my brother-in-law's house every day, as if they've decided the weave belongs to the bush now. She (I assume it's a she) looks strangely beautiful in her ridiculous toupee, and unlike the rest of the sad, neglected foliage on her block, she seems positively vibrant. I call her Shaniqua - "Hello, Shaniqua, how are you doing today?" - and maybe I'm crazy, but I think she likes her new name.


Eric Spitznagel is a regular contributor to magazines like Playboy and The Believer. He's also the author of six books, the most recent being Fast Forward: Confessions of a Porn Screenwriter. His blog is called Vonnegut's Asshole, which is kinda ironic, as he infrequently writes about either assholes or Kurt Vonnegut. He's more afraid of you than you are of him.