I wanted to cut her hair.

She was in the chair in front of mine.  Her hair was colored badly, overgrown, uneven past her shoulders.  I wanted to cut her hair.  I wanted to give her a bath and put her to bed.  I wanted to kiss her all over, maybe sing something to her, even though I don’t like to sing.  Just something.  To soothe her.  She could be well off by herself; but she’s sanguine, hopeful as a child about tomorrow.  That day would bring someone along for sure.  Me.  She was strong and assertive but equally vulnerable – like that dog with all the different colors and no collar who belonged to no one – its hair was unruly, dull in spots.  For a while he had managed to survive on scraps and bowls of food put out by neighborhood animal lovers — I could take care of her — introduce her to a different way, calm her.