It can sometimes take almost two hours for me to give Dylan a perfect haircut. I drink mimosas, listen to audio book horror and science fiction short stories and furrow my brows while I work. As the late afternoon San Francisco sun shines hard down through glass upon us both, I gaze intently at Dylan and sigh. “What,” says Dylan. “I think, darling,” I reply, “it’s safe to say that you will live and die and no one else, not ever, will have this haircut.” Dylan smiles and I kiss him with quick instinctual affection upon the tip of his nose. In this age and day, achieving true originality in any form is difficult. One must celebrate every instance, and love lights the way because love is the source of the cure.