entrance to the circus

I meet an old friend who now I see that he is also an old friend. He tells me I have long hair. Too long. That the long hair that I have feels bad to me Princess Hair, that makes me older. Almost without time to answer that he is fatter than ever and to remind him that I stole a girlfriend, an anorak, two sonnets, the title of an essay and an entrance to the circus, I ran in the direction of a hairdresser.

But that was a strange city. Not for the fat one, yes for me. I did not know where there was a hairdresser. I also did not know what the fattest fat man did in this city, although in fact the correct question would be to say what I was doing. Tourism. It did tourism.