What a difference a hair cut could make. She transcribed a panic attack on the back of a menu in a sushi restaurant. She felt she was about to vibrate out her skin her molecules smashing the glasses and worse embarrassing her so she couldn't go back there. And then there was the clean wooden floors and track lighting of the salon. The swoosh of the water close to her scalp and the near sacred pleasure of having someone else shampoo your hair. The clean sent of her hair nearly intoxicated her as she sat on the bench reading. It was an autobiography by a famous actress, discussing her discovery of New Age beliefs. She was delighting in reading about cocktail parties and gala fundraisers next to descriptions of UFOs over Peru and Mayan temples. It reminded her of studying to be an anthropologist one or two failed college attempts ago. And the primary lesson of being respectful to belief systems not your own. She was finding it easier to think of her aborted academic career without her skin starting to buckle from shame. But maybe that was due to the hair cut. The breeze tickled the back of her neck, November seemed far away.