Stop looking at me like that. I've been in tears for hours now. I don't even know how to look after a dog. What do they eat, where do they sleep, what do they want exactly? How am I ever going to fucking cope with children? I went back down to the buggy after fending off stupid Billy and his goons and...oh Christ I just want to cry all over. All was there was his shoes and socks sitting there with Zac whining next to them. He didn't want to leave, I didn't know what to do, what could I do? I just picked up what was there, his house keys, his wallet and his watch and brought them back home. I couldn't go to his house, I don't know where he lives; there's nothing in his wallet that says as much, so we've come back to my little one up, one down cottage in the middle of town. Stop looking at me like that will you, I don't know what you want. I want to hug you but I don't even know if you're the kind of dog that takes to being hugged. I don't want my face bitten off.
I've calmed down a bit now. I was really upset earlier, well I still am but Zac has stopped pacing and is quietly curled by my fire. I gave him some chocolate digestives and some milk, he seems very well behaved. Dog's are good for security aren't they? You can't have too much security in this town so I keep being told, mainly by people whose business is security funnily enough. This town, let me tell you about this town. A town is just supposed to be buildings and people right? This town is buildings and people plus all the dead people, a mountain of pub ashtrays, cupboardy and curtainy people, fragile old ladies with blue hair and potty mouths, horsey folk with big teeth and arses like barges. This town has eighteen hairdressers of which I am pretending to be one. He thought I didn’t notice that he’d got his cut properly but I did. For the record, I’m not really a trained hairdresser, but let’s face it, you don’t get asked for a shit-load of references in this business. It’s not exactly cutting edge. And there’s the rub, why is the hair dressing industry littered with puns? In town at the moment we have the following lexical abortions: Barber Blacksheep, Curl Up and Dye, Blade Runners and Skullduggery. Most of the customers don’t care where, they just want to know when and who. As a hairdresser, the amount of business you do is directly related to how much gossip you know. That’s probably why I never have any customers.
Despite what you might think, hairdressers get a rough ride. People often want a style that won't work with their hair type and round here people seem to want styles that require having more hair than they actually have, particularly the women. You can never win, so you can either simply ignore the customer’s request or, disagree with them and suggest an alternative. Either way at the end of the process, the hairdresser has changed your appearance. The customer is unused to looking this way, gets pissed off, goes home and reworks it roughly into the shape that it was in before they came. From what I can make out, most hairdressers are just re-stylists and the rest are just proficient with an electric razor. The art has all but gone out of scissorship.
I’m just trying to imagine my life with a dog. He seems well behaved; he could come to the salon with me although not everyone likes dogs, it could put some customers off. He does need a haircut and perhaps some sort of decoration, maybe a neckerchief. It’s weird, I’m not that upset about Ray. I don’t know that Ray is in fact also at the bottom of the quarry of course, but I’m not hopeful, he’s always been accident prone, it’s the big mouth. I’ve noticed that, people with big mouths are generally more accident prone than regular people. I suspect they’re not all accidents though. As much as I hate to admit it, I probably should find Trudie, she always knows what to do even though she has a big mouth.
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