There is a hair in my room which is extreme. It is severe and cannot easily be mastered. It has vanquished brooms and dustpans by the score, and destroys vacuums without hesitation. It is unafraid of machines, and will lay waste to them like St. George with an untried dragon. I believe it has designs involving heroism. It claims to be able to liberate all who suffer bondage and to destroy tyrants far and wide. Sometimes it speaks to the night, to the stars. It is only a hair. And yet, I feel sure it must once have belonged to me. I think it prays to a hair-god. Or perhaps to something even stranger. It will not leave my room. I cannot dislodge it by force or reason.