"So when are we inviting her over?" says Carl as we pull out of the driveway.
"Do you need a haircut that badly?" says Francois, smiling. He is in the front seat as usual, partly on my insistence. I want to keep sacrosanct my backseat privilege.
"Not as badly as you might be implying, young man: But she seems nice and very interesting."
"Agreed", he replies. I have no interest in participating in the conversation. I suddenly am feeling ornery and misanthropic again.
"I'm going to ask her to give me blue hair", says Carl.
"You would be a vision of loveliness", says Francois. "How about you Christopher? Would you like blue hair?"
"Maybe purple or green." I really don't feel like participating.
"How about pink?" says Carl. "Or a flaming fuchsia?"
"Yeah okay."
"How about you, Francois?"
"Me? I thought of living my life as a blonde. But really, I prefer my hair its natural colour. Black as the ace of spades."
Carl seems to find his remark funny. I don't, but right now I don't find anything to be funny......
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