They make a desert and they call it 'progress'

I think I have commented once or twice in passing that the north-eastern stretch of Jiugulou Dajie, the major street just south of my apartment, is once again in the throes of reconstruction and shrouded in the ominous blue metal sheeting.   This has been the state of affairs for at least a month or two now, and I have walked past the blue fencing almost every day - but always, I suppose, in a hurry to get somewhere, not really paying attention to the changed geography of the street, not taking stock of what has been swept away and what might be rearing up in its place.  They've taken my hairdresser's, dammit!  And I am very overdue for a trim.  This is a disaster, a nightmare.  I am seriously tempted to just start shaving my head.   It is desperately difficult to find a decent place to get your hair cut in this country.  I find I had been relying on this neighbourhood haven for very nearly three years now.  I am distraught to find it suddenly gone.  Baldness really may be my only option now.