The occupant grips the roots of their braid and starts to twist it into a ball. The hair slips out of the hand because the hand does not stop on the hair tie. The occupant has lost the hair tie. The hair tie was bought in a dm store in Berlin in 2014, it was dark grey and came in a package with black and light grey ties. It was a crumpled cloth on a rubber band, it looked like grey intestines, or maybe brain tissue. But now it has fallen out of the occupant’s hair somewhere: in the supermarket, on the subway, on the street. Someone could have stepped on it. The occupant thinks, I’m an adult, an adult accepts losing a hair tie, everyone loses hair ties all the time.

The next day the occupant walks to the shop wearing a new hair tie. A dark grey hair tie is lying on the ground a few dozen metres from the apartment towards the bridge. It is muddy, but when you put it in the washing machine, it comes out like new.