![]() ![]() I supposed it was a hair salon and felt that it was some sort of fate to see another hair salon down here at this district. Just then, I spotted a modest shophouse across the street just plainly labelled as “Salon”, with a silver pair of scissors painted on its entrance. The weather was hot and humid, making me sweat profusely and if my hair had not been tied up previously, it would already have been a tangled mess. While resting, I noticed that I had walked all the way to a Chinatown district within the city. After several minutes of heated debate with the receptionist over not letting me rebook with Jennifer, I stormed out the door and walked down the sidewalk, strolling so long that my feet began to hurt and I sat down on a nearby bench. ![]() I politely rejected because I have at times seen Jackson get scissors-happy with his female clients even when they have specified their desired hairstyles. ![]() They however, lost my business when the receptionist did not suggest rebooking my appointment with Jennifer, but to have Jackson, another stylist to do it for me. Jennifer was however, sick today and the salon apologised for the late notification as they only opened at 9AM and I was always earlier by 5 to 10 minutes. The salon is a short walk away from my apartment and I had an appointment at 9AM as usual with Jennifer, a female stylist whom always did my hair. Until today, I have always went to the same salon to get my hair washed, trimmed and dried. My hair is a light, gorgeous shade of brown and hangs as far back as my bra strap. ![]() I have always been peculiar about my hair, never colouring or layering it, and I have never gotten more than one inch of my hair cut at any one time. My name is Connie, and I am 22 years old. ![]()
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