Fuck it is cold! I've had all of my hair cut off last night. My ears were freezing, as I went around to the shops for coffee beans, cigarettes and the newspaper.
I was taken a back when I caught sight of my reflection in the shop windows.
I was aghast to see that the public land on the corner of Smith Street is up for sale. Yarra council sold off the public carpark, a few years ago, and now this. Yeah, they really care about their residents. Now we just have to wait for the application to go in for twenty apartments, I guess, all with the parking requirements wavered, no doubt.
My hair started going grey in my early twenties, practically the moment I hit 21, and I've dyed it ever since. Nobody ever susses it out, in fact, most people are surprised when I tell them it's dyed.
"But Chris, it looks soooo natural."
Anyway, this is the first time in a long time that I have had it cut really short and consequently, the first time I have seen the real colour of my hair in years, also. It's dark on the top, but that's it, the rest is really grey. My hairdresser, who is also one of my best friends, said he liked it and encouraged me to leave it it's natural colour.
Jill just called to say she has just booked herself into get her roots done at 12.30. She said she was really lucky to get the appointment. She was very pleased with herself. Jasus Jill! So much for leaving in the morning. She had forgotten that my hair was dyed and said, I quote, Wait until your sixty to go natural.
Let it be grey when you're old.
I'm not so sure. I don't know.
I wish it was just salt and pepper, as I find that sexy myself, but it's not.
It's nice to run my fingers through, short. It feels good.
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