Hurley? Ali? Halle? Flowers for You

Thank God am at salon--hair grey and wild like overgrown sheepdog who has weathered blizzard. Door clanged open--florist delivery fellow. "Hurley? Ali? Halle?" That's what I heard, and H. calls me Ali. They motioned the man back toward me, sitting in this black robe in this black chair as my color sets. 

And he headed right back with the big green-tissue-paper-wrapped booty to Halle, the young, redheaded shampoo girl. That's cool, that's fine, she's sweet. Just my imagination running away with me....