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He drove around town. He went to the busiest salons. He needed fresh samples to satisfy his hair fetish. He felt like a thief but knew he wasn’t. Still he had to be careful as he didn’t want to be caught in the act. He narrowed down his search to specific dumpsters.

Sunday morning came after a payday. I got up early before 7am and took off. He found the first dumpster hidden behind the first salon he had selected. He jumped off and saw a trash bag filled with what looked like freshly cut hair from the day before. He grabbed it and quickly tossed it into his car. He drove to the next selected dumpster and grabbed a similar bag.

He got home and put the two bags on the kitchen floor. He laid out newspapers all over the floor. He put on his gloves and face mask like he was in an operating room. He took his pair of scissors and slit the first bag open like a surgeon. Slowly he started to dissect the bag. He caught a whiff of perm solution. He went past the soda cans and old lunch container. He ignored the short hair clippings. Those that came in for " trims " were of no use to him. He wanted locks of hair at least six inches or longer. The tension mounted as he moved his way through. Finally, he saw what he was looking for; blond locks. A pile of blond hair that had been tossed into the garbage after it had been swept off the floor. Little did the lady or girl know that it would wind up in his hands. He carefully separated it out and placed it aside. It was in six inch lengths. He felt the softness and picked it up to smell the sweet scent. It was still damp so he laid it out ever so careful to dry. This bag held this treasure but no other. He gathered up the contents and put them into a new trash bag to be tossed out.

He repeated the procedure on the second bag and found a nice section of shinny soft black hair about eight inches in length. He could just imagine the girl or lady sitting in the chair having it sectioned and cut off. They had decided they didn’t want it but he did. He hated to find pieces in dust that were not use-able.

He cursed the damn hair fetish he had that led him to look into trash bags for locks of hair. He wish he was rich to buy it wholesale. He wish he could tell a stylist to save it for him and he would pay her or him for it. He hated the smelly process but at the same time there was a sense of adventure to it. Least today he had found some samples he could save. The search for Treasure had been successful. Now, to clean up the mess left over.

Hope you liked the story. Mr. Snips

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