The Waiting Chair
As the cautious scissors dance around your soul, stare into your reflections' glassy resolve. What secrets does the split end protect?
The haircut has been delayed not due to the lack of hair, or the surfeit of it, but to ponder the now flattened croissant under the barber's chair. It was once full of hope and air—the joint architects of the frail pastry deflated by duty.
Spontaneous Dialogue with Neil, the Self-Aware Shampoo Bottle:
- "I blend to cleanse, but do I ever really cleanse to blend?"
- "Foam: it arises and it falls, much as the waves on forgotten shores."
- "Mistrust any bottle that smiles change upon encounter—hence, our permanent frown."
The accountant sat beside the window, reconciling the monthly expenditure on hair gel by subtracting the inevitable evaporation of ideals soon after application. Who holds the true cost of charisma ensnared in fragrance? Hidden are whispers within the fibers of disposable capes.
What is purpose, if not a twist, wrap, and tighten around the illustriously gathered tresses? Much akin to the style of the dame clad in pinstripes, balancing equations and powdery soapsuds.