Everyday she brushed and she brushed, the salty tangle and mass heavy with sand and grit. She trudged through the muck, finding plastic cartons and sodapop tabs and even a whole piano once. She watched it sink, the water pressure causing keys to be pressed, composing certain chords and then others. The proportions of the instrument made even less sense underwater, stolid curvaceous middle, stubbed legs. The light refracted off the strings inside pinging light in myriad directions. It landed gently and there it was, the most exclusive concert hall, an audience of kelp. Occasionally, a fish would dart too quickly and sound a note, more of a muck than a pitch. Each day, she lost her beautiful hair ornaments, the shiny eels and the lugubrious whales getting netted, stuck, torn off her head. But still, she brushed and brushed everyday, her long web of hair that wove around the world, untangling the plastic cartons and sodapop tabs, and there was no one to help her.

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