Collision

I physically run into you on a crowded street and when we realize who we are, our collision morphs into an embrace. It is so good to see you but you are almost unrecognizable: you have shaved off your eyebrows, bleached your hair blond, grown your fingernails into talons. I squeeze you as hard as I can and smash my face into your windbreaker, which smells like Bounce laundry detergent and sea salt.