One bright and sunny day, I decided to traverse New York City, a.k.a. the concrete jungle. Setting out on my exploration, I expected to see people with garb as diverse as the fauna of the Amazon rain forest, but instead I was met with an expanse of humdrum mammals all following the rest of the herd. Where was the leader of the pack? Where was the one descended from royalty fit to rule the land? Where was the king of the jungle?
Without warning, a beast popped out of an alleyway. I jumped up in surprise but breathed a sigh of relief as I realized it was but a girl with the mane of a lion. Amongst the monkeys in clothes trekking along the sidewalk, this young lady was able to establish her sovereignty without saying a word. Her long flowing mane shimmered majestically in the light and captivated those who dared step foot in her territory. Slightly brown and tied up in a calm, cool and collected manner, her lovely locks roared so she didn’t have to. When she whipped her head around to acknowledge my presence I could hear the soundtrack to The Lion King play in my head and I felt a sudden urge to bow down in respect. Her heeled shoes amplified her height to a whopping 5’5″, towering over the average female, and her faded bag really brought out the dyed tips of her tresses.
Would you like to be a big cat; the Panthera leo of the population? Go to your nearest barber and ask for the Simba.
