A ghost-like lady appears in the doorway of the hairdresser’s next to the bank. All the heads of hair have been falsified now, and the shop is closed, but she appears as if by magic with her blue and white checked overall flapping at her sides in the wind. She holds the mop tightly as she looks up at the sky and stoops a little to accommodate the bubbled bucket, then disappears down a side passage. With the door open, I notice the small white room has lost its familiar hairspray aroma, and now reeks of disinfectant. I peer in. The staff has done an excellent job of cleansing the inside, after the day’s sploshing, chopping, and slopping colour about. The dirt has been swilled away and a shining vision of mirrors and silver chairs gleams back at me. An empty space, devoid of human traces, re
