Look, I’m an old man. I am holding on to the last thread of my youth that I have… my hair. Its about the only thing left that I have from my youth. I had killer hair growing up. I had this dynamic Mohawk when I was in high school. Nice, curly luxurious hair. People loved my hair. They would write about it, crave it, spread rumors of my hair. They would anxiously wait for Mondays to see my hair. In my 20s, they would praise my hair, they fought for the resistance of my hats. My hair was the stuff legends were made of.
Now it’s come to this.
I tried to recapture my youth by bleaching my hair blond. I have done it before, with incredible results. My sister always did my hair and would put up with me telling her that I didn’t like it, and to change it. She always did a good job. That’s not to say that the person who did my hair this time did a bad job. She did a great job. I just have no business making it this color. My youth is gone. I must embrace that 50 will be here soon.
Well, I’ll go with what they call “highlights” next time I’m in the chair. They always look good on me. Soon I will be bald and lead a life of my yearning for days past…Woe is me. Woe is me.
No, this is not me.
Rock forth, Mitch
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