It's hot.
It's midnight.
My neighbors, just warming up for the night, have made a lateral musical move from bad loud rap to bad loud contemporary country.
For diversion, I have been hacking away at my hair in the bathroom mirror. (It's not all that dramatic -- still past shoulders and all...)
BUT LISTEN TO THIS GREAT IDEA!!!!! Who wants to start a Salon-While-You-Slumber with me? Stylists would make housecalls while you sleep, and you would wake up with a fabulous new haircut. I would LOVE that. I NEVER have time to go and refresh my 'do.
Actually, now that I ponder this further, it sounds a little creepy. People with scissors sneaking into your house and all.
Plus, nobody should want to start that business with me; I'm a beauty school dropout.
:::::
A poem by Brian Engel
Rain
-for Bao Phi
Leave me a dry leaf
say you've seen a cold drop
of rain from a bird's shoulder
When I fly
I am the wind
powder of chimney tops
There are no dead roses
in my hair no snow
in my fist
My hair is dying
my hair is perfect
your hair is perfect
vultures do drop rain
leaves do curl into seed
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