I snip my fingers, and they land on the hair of the client sitting in front of me, and then they decide to pirouette across her scalp and arabesque along her hairline, so I coo come back, but the knuckles of my middle finger wiggle a jaunty no, and they slide down her wet hair to her shoulders, before diving into the blue of the Barbicide slowly filling up the salon, and I watch them minnow towards the hair washing sinks and I look at my client in the mirror, her face a blur, but her voice telling me about how she knows her boyfriend is cheating but can’t prove it, and I nod and look for my missing fingers, see them shimmer along the tasteful track lighting, and my client shakes her head again and I snip off my hand and it kerplunks into the rising Barbicide and flounders after my fingers and I think maybe I should go get them before they escape down the drain pipes and out to the ocean, but I don’t have a net, and my client never says sorry and continues ranting about her cheating asshole of a boyfriend and I snip off my forearm, but that’s okay, because now the Barbicide is above both of our heads and her hair jellyfishes around us.
