The neat and clean place known as Madame Fifi's is forever sullied as the young lady enters the door. She shakes her hair from it's pilings under her baseball cap, and brushed the dog hair off of her shit-stained coveralls. Serves her right for thinking 'Salon'...here she thought she was going to get someone to pick the chaff out of her curls and maybe wash her hair for her.

Quickly realizing her faux pas, she ducks back out the door and shimmies out of her coveralls. Jeans and a t-shirt will have to do. Hopefully Madame Fifi is a kind woman.

"White wine? No thank you, but if you have a good hot tea, touch of cream and sugar, I'd be eternally grateful." She takes a table by the window with a clear view of the delicate stage where a delightful pair is singing "With Kitty I'll Go"...

"Taking turns? Oh dear...I suppose I could sing something.." She walks to the stage, more than slightly embarassed in these elegant surroundings, and borrows a guitar.

The hills are bare now
The autumn leaves lie thick and still
The land that is lost now
But oh so dearly held
Who stood against them
Proud Edward's army
And sent them homewards
To think again
Oh flower of Scotland
When will we see you light again?
Who fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen
And stood against them
Proud Edward's army
And sent the homewards
To think again

She quietly finishes her song, and returns to her table, wishing she just would have found someone to wash her hair....