The young man kneels naked on the tile, head bowed low. She stands over him at his back, scissors held in one hand, a toroiseshell patterned comb in the other. She laughs nervously into his ear as she makes deliberate, slow cuts. A cut quicker than the rest is followed by, "uh... oooh. Oh."
He glances up into the mirror, trying not to seem alarmed. Reflected back he sees only the top of his head and her behind, calm, confident. From her fingers drops a sheaf of fresh-cut hair.
He is transformed, for better or for worse.
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