|View from runway|
|Gen and the Princess|
On Sunday I went to “Wild Life” salon, where they bleached the fuck out of my hair for free.
I needed a haircut, and they needed a model who would let them do anything they wanted.
On Monday I had the opportunity to walk on a runway looking out to the harbor bridge and opera house.
My hairstylist, Gen, had the idea that with my “crown” of blue fringe I was the archetypal prince and her other model a fairytale princess – several tales woven into her six meters of extensions.
I dominated the catwalk and Gen won first place for my cut and colour, 2nd for the avant-garde princess-do, and apprentice of the year. I was so proud.
|Selfie of new haircut|
Sunday evening I went to the city to meet with a stranger and go skinny-dipping in the ocean in the rain. I was drawn there by glowing blue gnomes from some sort of spirit realm, saying they needed a freelance-shaman such as myself.
I mentioned that I may be unrecognizable on account of the new hair, but got the following response: “You would be hard to miss with your retinue of winged-primate familiars and fashionable un-dead butlers.” The first thing I noticed about the stranger were his booze-fueled pirate swagger, laser eyes and robo-legs. We kissed in the sea in the rain.