“I don’t know why you want your hair gray,” the stylist said, whilst brushing on the thick solution of dye. “You’re so young and pretty.”
The girl enduring the thick solution sniffed. “I like to be edgy,” she said. “And no matter what I do, I’m hot anyway.”
The stylist rolled her eyes.
Next chair over, an old woman in curlers, sweatpants and old sneakers, smelling lightly of cigarette smoke, observed the girl.
“One day, honey,” the old lady said, “You will find a real gray hair and it’s downhill from there.”
The girl smiled. “True,” she said, and inwardly wished the old lady would just disappear.