Expectations packed its bags and moved into my soul, and then a load was dropped on my back, could this be the death of me? Experience was my guide, telling me to mix it all up in a pot, a pot I now call mistakes. Experience would watch me fail and tell me to go learn from the pot.

For this lesson is as old as time. We all need someone,. To call, a friend. It could be a he, a she. Or maybe the one in the Matrix. In the end, they make the journey easier. A saviour from the greatest oracle. In a world that cripple hands.

The salon reeked of synthetic rubbers, and rancid coconut. A fair and almost bald woman was being sized for a wig. A male stylist turned her neck sideways, then up, and down. As a Fortuneteller would, he held her head straight, stretched his arms to full length, and looked into her face. He then tilted her head mildly to the left. He sustained a smile, in the manner a salesman selling dust would, and returned to stand behind her.