Friday, 9 October 2009

The wrecking ball swung down, crushing the building in a rather boring fashion. I'm sorry that wasn't a very good sentence, but I'm tired. It did its job - setting the scene, letting you know what's going on, and so on - I suppose. Anyway, I digress...
The remains of the hairdressers collapsed inwards, in a slow, inevitable fashion. To be honest, I was disappointed - these things always look more dramatic on television. Waterman's Hairdressers had been on this street for as long as I could remember. I'd always get my haircuts there when I was a child, and Mr. Waterman himself would always be there. I remembered his kindly old smile, and his many words of encouragement: "You look stressed, why not pull up a seat?", he would say, before warning me about the dangers of the Welsh. 'Dragon riding wanks', he used to call them.
Of course, business had began to decline over the years, and his new marketing strategy had failed spectacularly. In hindsight, of course, we can all say that offering 'Gent's bikini waxes, female touch-ups and child grooming' was a bad idea, but I didn't see any of you try to help out.
The dust was settling now, and I'd grown bored. Come to think of it, it seemed dangerous to use a wrecking ball on a terraced street.

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