After living in Wisconsin for what we thought were several happy years, Pinky snuck out of my dad’s toiletry bag in San Francisco and taking advantage of the bathroom window being propped open, made his daring escape one morning to take his chances at being a sailor.  Or so the story goes.  Since then we have spotted Pinky, or simply signs of his presence, in various guises and habitats, both seemly and seedy.  I ran into Pinky trying his hand at hairdressing under the bright lights and we exchanged glances like the old friends we are.