Hair can be art, too. 

the art walk is a melting pot of people. we’re sitting in front of an apartment building that has become the impromptu backdrop for a concert. the darkness of the street contrasts with the lighted lobby, where people coming home stop for their mail, seemingly oblivious to the party in their front yard. 

a reggae jam band fronted by a ukulele player serenades passers-by between pitches for beer money. what must be the city’s entire punk scene mingles with skateboarders. a couple with a young girl stop to listen as their spaniel pup contemplates whether my foot is a fire hydrant. 

the weather is pleasant, the eclectic people of a quirky town are smiling. for a fleeting second, it feels like home. 

mostly, i want a yellow mohawk.