Hey, you, yeah, you. The lady with the tattoos. The gal with the eyebrow piercings The chick with the blue hair. There is room for you in Islam. How can I say that? How can I say that you can be a part of my faith as I stand here in my all-enveloping robes and my hair – do I even have hair? – hidden under flowing fabric? How can I even approach you, think we have anything in common? How can I look at you with your skin exposed and inked, poured into skinny jeans and teetering on stiletto heels? How can you ever have anything in common with me? Why would I even bother to ask?
