She looks pretty today, though she always does. But today her hair’s a little brighter, like she maybe just had it done. And her makeup is different. Then again, it’s always different. Every time I see her, she looks a little bit like somebody else. She’s like those fireworks over the lake last weekend, the ones that were every color all at once. You can’t pin Aidy Kincaid down. You can’t pigeonhole her into one particular type of anything.
