At the push of a button, the gurney holding Auriel Peterson slides slowly into the pale blue glow of a magnetic resonance imaging machine. Soon, all that's visible are the shins of her black track pants and the chartreuse-and-white soles of her running shoes, angled like the fins of a torpedo.
Behind a window in an adjacent room, a splayed-out cauliflower pattern appears on a computer screen in black and white. It's Peterson's brain. And it's probably the last thing about this exercise that will be so simply shaded.
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