Samson felt completely different when he left the bathroom the second time. The towel tucked around his middle and the second in his hand, getting wet from his hair. Even after Persephone's typical artful work on his mop early that morning he still carried more hair than he was used to. She had cut and faded a nice artful and almost styled look. When Samson was on his own, he typically set the trimmers at one short length and ripped everything off his head, in a few hacking passes.
Once upon a time he could run his hand over his head, watch the water spirits out, and been dry seconds later. Now he needed a towel like some little girl. All thanks to the hair she had left on the top of his head. She would say she liked running her fingers through it, so he rubbed the towel over his n
