I had a dream last night. Well, really this morning. It's 03:40 right now. It gave me a chuckle. I had to write it down. I singed some hair off yesterday, not a lot by any means, but it inspired the dream...only in the dream there was a tommygun, and it was my hair. I took a few liberties.

"You blew my hair off?" Clara asked incredulously, kneeling over a mass of hair. She gave no notice to the gun mere inches from her head. Sunlight exposed smoke coming from the singed clump on the floor.

"You and that hair, that's all I ever hear about."

"You blew my hair off! Buster, you could have killed me!"

"Don't tempt me. I'm not in the mood for another tantrum."

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking you and your hair ought to get out of my sight before I do something drastic."

"Buster, you blew my hair off! Are you that dense? That's pretty fucking drastic." Clara shot up in the bathroom doorway, the pile of hair in her hands.

"Clara, I'm not kidding. Go."

Clara dove into the dress on the back of the bathroom door and ran through the bedroom. "Should I take something with me? Am I allowed back? If not, I should take something with me."

"Take this." Buster pulled his wallet out of his suit coat, tossed a few bucks and his keys her way, "Get a proper cut. Looks like trash."