What Novel?

The woman cut closer and closer.
I could hear the blades file together every time. The sound of cutting paper grazed my follicles. I was worried about the outcome.
There was no traditional barber shop around my house, just around the corner.
There was no nice elderly man to greet you at the door.

Instead I got this girl with fingernails the color of my candy apple red guitar who snapped her gum like it was the 90's.

"So where do you go to school, hun?"

Her questions circled my ears and drifted in and out.

"Huh?"

"I said, where do you go to school?"

"Oh, um. Richardson High."

The hairdryer drifted in and out like the conversation.

"How do you like it there?"

I wondered why she asked these meaningless questions. I guessed she just wanted to start a conversation. Her faded red bandanna and curly blonde hair made me like her though.

"It's alright. The classes are boring, but then again, what classes aren't?"

Snip, snip, snip.

The cold blades stung for seconds at a time.

The manual lawnmower of my mind.

She laughed in that small inhale laugh that sounds like people choking on their on spit.

I glanced over at the brunette sitting behind the desk at the front. Her feet up on the desk and pointy glasses, she looked like another teen clone model.

She was also popping gum.

Every so often, she would flip a page in her fashion and gossip magazine and sniff at the perfume samples. Both her ears and mine were filled with the latest rap hit that was rattling through her headphones.

I hope she goes deaf.

The woman waiting on the plastic covered bench out front was talking on her phone. She was talking with her mouth open since it's law to do so while putting make up on.

After several minutes of struggling, she settled into a position that was most efficient.
She stared into the mirror with every intention of making it into perfection.

I hope she goes blind.

Further than that, they were arguing. She kept pointing the finger at him and he kept backing up and his eyes began to look more like shiny orbs than olives.

"I'm SORRY!" you could hear through the glass.
"NO NO NO! I HATE YOU. YOU DON'T SUPPORT ME."
"I DO."

You could tell he did.

I hope she can't feel anymore.

Snip, snip.

"You're almost done honey."

I hoped so.

I needed to go talk to someone.

The little bell on the door made a jingle.

The lady at the desk didn't flinch.

Her face was hidden in the doorway by the glare of the sun on the glass door.

My savior.