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Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Sasha and I are standing outside a large house at night. There is a huge house party going on, people are flooding in and out, music is blasting. She tells me the house is also a hair salon and that one of her friends wants to cut my hair. I agree to it since I had been wanting a haircut; nests were forming out of my matted hair and the length was to my waist. We go inside and find her friend, a tall, skinny, black man whom I never learned the name of. He leads us through the crowds of people to the side of the room where mirrors, sinks and hair salon chairs are organized. He is excited and tells me the first step is to relax in a chair while he goes to retrieve the injection. Wide eyed, I refuse and say I don't like needles. He shakes his head and says it is too late to decline but to not fret, for I am sure to enjoy it. Sasha pulls up a half reclined salon chair behind me and tells me to relax while she goes and finds her friend Lea. The man comes back with a velcro, rectangular case and fidgets with a syringe inside. I look around me, a blond girl is crying in the chair next to me. She is facing the mirror and running her hands through her hair. I immediately know that she had hair like mine before, whereas now she has a very short, blond pixie cut with a small, uncut chunk in the back, similar to a rat tail. I tell her this is my first time and ask if she would hold my hand. She sobs silently and stretches out her hand. I squeeze it and stare at her short hair as I feel the needle sliding into my forearm. I ask the man what medicine is in the needle. He smiles and says it is just a concoction that will help me relax. I let go of the girl's hand and say nothing. The man realizes he doesn't have his hair cutting supplies, he apologizes and rushes off to retrieve them. The girl tells me it's not too late, I can still get away but the injection will make me drowsy. Sasha walks up with her friend Lea and asks if I canceled, for she has just seen the skinny man talking to a group of friends. I tell her yes, and that we are leaving.

Sasha and I are in a club. It is a new club called 310 because it opens at 3 a.m until 10 a.m. It is dark and green strobe lights are flashing. She is talking to a few people. I stare at a gigantic flat screen television on the ceiling. It is an automatic DJ she tells me. It composes songs based off what random people in the room are thinking of. I think of the recent Studio Ghibli film I saw. Immediately the Ghibli logo flashes on the television, but remade with darker colors and bright japanese symbols jumping around the screen. The current song transitions into a remixed theme song from the movie. I laugh and think it ironic. I then see Tanner behind the group of people Sasha is speaking to. I walk around and raise my hand to greet him, but he does not acknowledge me and walks away. I then wonder if the DJ picked up my thoughts on the song, or had someone else been thinking about it.
Sasha gets a ride home with her friends from the club, I am alone in the parking lot walking towards my car. The tall, skinny man from the salon runs up to me apologizing profusely. He insists that I return for a haircut and that his employers were furious with him. I smile and say nothing as I climb into my car, shut the door and watch his mouth moving, still speaking through the window glass.

Sasha and I are at her friend's apartment. It is early in the morning but they are still drinking. A few people are huddled around a laptop computer, laughing every now and then. Sasha tells me there is a popular YouTube video that everyone is watching and she wants to show me. We sit on a large white couch and she puts the laptop on my knees. She full screens the video and it begins:
A group of girls in their twenties are standing in a line. They are smiling, wearing dresses and cone party hats and are singing happy birthday. The girl being sung to is standing in front of them, but with her back to them. She has a short pixie hair cut and a blue dress. Her face looks pained and she is hugging her mother in slow motion. The line of girls singing behind them becomes out of focus. The camera closes in on the birthday girl's face, now resting on her mother's shoulder. She stares into the camera. The camera zooms in closer and closer and tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

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