Every now and then, when I pick up an eyebrow pencil, I think of Harry Brunsworth… of all things.
You wouldn’t know him.
He lived in the town where I grew up in Alabama and he’s been dead for years.
But, Lord knows, why do these strange memories lurk in our sub-consciousness, or our makeup drawer?
Harry Brunsworth just happened to be the husband of the woman who did my clothing alterations.
If you’re s…
