Listening to: Zero7
Reading: A Farewell to Arms
I badly wanted to walk into town with a purpose, with direction. This world is my oyster, and I have arrived with visions of grandeur! No time for fancy-dancy or rose smelling. Today I would have my hair cut. I sat patiently through a fully abusive shearing at the hands of a fifty-something asian man who must have had something to prove. He mashed his failing, grinding clippers into the back of my neck over and over; it may as well have been a wax job. I may as well have gotten a tattoo. I paid, thanked him, assured him I was just as impressed with the gradation of bruised skin to trimmed hair on the back of my head as he was proud of it. "No rine! No rine!" He was thrilled. I wasnt sure why the old man was looking for praise having raised the hairline on the back of my head an inch. He was, however, still holding those terrible terrible clippers. I smiled large, nodded emphatically. Together, we shared a moment of celebration - for that day, we both were conquerers.