So, I go to get my hair cut, because tomorrow is the big moving day, and I've about had it with pushing sweaty strands out of my eyes during the past few days of packing.
I drop by World Hair, put my name on the list, go outside for a cigarette, browse through Utta Clutter's sidewalk display, come back in, and get handshook and seated by Kim.
She has the body of a twenty-year old, but she gets my lame joke about that '80s band, Haircut 100.
"Sure, they had that one hit." 
I can't remember it, so I say, "I can't remember it."
"Boy Meets Girl."
There are many ways to read this hopefully, and maybe even to extrapolate.
Not for me, though. I'm late for shuffleboard.
3 comments:
Weird how my hair looks up close. Like cheap implants, doesn't it?
too much product, that's why.
Is such a thing even possible? I mean, I lived in L.A. for ten years!
Geek note: the CAPTCHA that I had to type in to post this comment: badusr
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