substitute

I too had an unusual dream last night. I think it was quite long but I remember only the tail end of it, which was that I was wandering through a government building and decided to buy a deep-burgundy shirt and then stop off at the hair salon. The hairdresser was very attractive, and she encased my hair in thick blobs of a white waxy substance, like cholesterol dreadlocks. The next day I realized I could remove the waxy stuff, and my hair underneath had turned to strawberry blonde.

Then there was something about a giant grandstand where prostitutes waited for clients, on the corner of Peel and Pine street in Montreal. I think my hairdresser moonlighted there or something.