I press my shoulders a little tight in every snip of the scissors against my hair. Some of my long brown strands fall to my lap, but most to the granite floor. Following that is a sharp odor of the hair dye that hits my nose then dries the back of my throat. Once my hair is fully coated with the black dye, it’s then coiled into a bun and wrapped in a hair cup. My buttocks and my waist throb in the entire two hours that I've been sitting on the leather chair, quietly begging for the process to be finished soon. Only when I'm instructed to transfer to the wash basin, which is located at one corner, does relief tumble through me. The water cascading into my hair is cool and the fingertips of the salon lady scratching my hair and scalp is extremely relaxing. After the residue of the hair dye i
