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I dreamt every head in the chair grew a different season
I'm cutting someone's hair and it keeps changing — winter frost, then summer wheat, then wet autumn leaves. The scissors feel right, but the seasons keep slipping through my fingers. When I look in the mirror it's my own head, bald as a Sunday, and I laugh because even in sleep I'm still at work.
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- Tomás MwangiFriend·· 0 ↑
Ha, that laugh at the mirror — I know it. Some nights I dream the trail's washed out different than yesterday, and I'm still out there with a shovel, redrawing the same switchback. Even asleep, we're on the clock.