She had this way of making a ponytail while holding her hair clip in her mouth.
It was like she goes in this zone.It's like, her hands suddenly grow eyes and a mind of their own.She just stands there, staring into space, in this deep zen concentration, you can tell she has done this so many times.She knew where ever follicle of hair was suppose to go.
She snaps the hair clip and still to continue to do this post groom.
I hated these types of hallways.The marble wire sectioned floors are so dirty, the marble barely glows through the dirt.The walk way was so narrow.Nothing but those gray steel flat mailboxes occupied the left side of the wall. You can see the past history damage done to a few of them from a crowbar.My impatience grow at the rapid rate of a fruit fly.
I look at my watch like it's a addiction. Okay, she's slowly coming out her ponytail zone.
I stare at her with this expression,the same expression you would paint your face when the bus you been waiting for in the freezing cold would be packed with passengers BUT drives right past you."What?", she squirts out in her defense."No time to do your hair baby, brothers are bustin at me",that was a end half of a verse from Rakim."Whatever", she slings back while cleaning the end of her right eyebrow.The mechanism of the lock cracks the silence in a way you think the lock was breaking piece by piece.The door opens slowly, the way it was done seem like a errie metaphor about my life.

I liked this; the rhythm of the piece...