I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
My studio teacher asked us to push ourselves for this next assignment. I've been growing an attachment to my hair for a while. I remember being high before and looking in the mirror, pulling at its short ends, wishing that it was long. I remember my face, and the action, the pulling. I can still feel the desperation. Now that I am here... where else to go but back? Or forward.. to another case of short hair scenario. I'm afraid of the withdrawals. I'm afraid that this pent up energy might mean nothing. I'm afraid that I will return, to that lost expression - wanting a new face.
I'm going to get my hair cut by people who I do not know, or either them me.
