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Camouflaged as I am with moles and freckles, I'm hardly one to get excited when a new spot makes a debut appearance. But when one slowly began morphing into a tiny Rorschach tattoo, I was quick to book a mole mapping. I tried not to worry. After all, I rationalized, I grew up in California, but northern California. There were no _tanning-booth skeletons in my closet, and now that I was 34, the bronzed Brazilian look had long ago lost its charm. Besides, I'd spent years battling blizzards as a reporter based in Moscow, a skin cancer-free zone if there ever was one.
And yet there was no denying the irregular black freckle on my arm. Flagstaff, Arizona, derm Scott ...