(no subject)
I stink of beer and cigarettes smoked by others besides me. I'm sweating through the purple flowers of my shirt and the music in my ears is just an inch too loud. I need something different and I want someone with the guts and the skills to do it. If I was a heavy drug user, it'd be a problem but since I'm not- piercings, tattoos and changing my hair will do. I walk through the glass door of RockStar hating the name but looking for someone with the confidence in doing what I want. The place smells just like any other salon, hairspray, that warmness of a hair dryer and a distinct smell they all have- chemicals. We're all filled with chemicals. A man approaches me, gives me the eye and then focuses on my hair. His dark skin combined well with the polished look he carried himself with. Its hard not to find a gay man on south beach. He focuses on my long, wavy and brown hair with a hint of red. There's no distinction in his eyes, he's seen it all before.
"I want to cut it off"
His eyes widens a bit and before he could say anything and before I lose my nerve "I want to cut it off above my shoulders."
Interest sparks in his monotone eyes and instead of the expected answer of "are you sure" he says: "Let's do it."
"I want to cut it off"
His eyes widens a bit and before he could say anything and before I lose my nerve "I want to cut it off above my shoulders."
Interest sparks in his monotone eyes and instead of the expected answer of "are you sure" he says: "Let's do it."