It was just a little strand of hair, at the nape of his neck. It was just a thick strand of wavy, curly hair that seemed to twist in into a tiny dreadlock all by itself. No matter how much he brushed or combed his hair, this one piece would not unravel. But the man did not really care. He knew that the spirit of his dead daughter was his invisible barber, twirling and twisting his hair into braids just has she had when she was alive.