Wig

At Pine and Spruce streets, a cab tore through the stop sign, hitting an old Buick broadside and spinning it into a lamppost. When it hit the post, the rear door burst open, a woman flying onto the street. Everything was dead quiet for a count of five and then the woman slapped at her face, brushing away the broken glass. With groggy eyes and a bloodied face, she inched her way to a curly brown wig near the curb and slipped it onto her bald head.