Your hair. It's on fire.

I had a dream my hair was on fire.

I didn't realize this until the woman behind me pointed it out, apologizing for the inconvenience. I was trying to lead a group of people through a night time fair or carnival of some sort, and everyone was hungry and in a hurry. It was dark and there were a lot of people at the fair and there was jostling and pushing through the walkways toward the food booths. 

So I found a place to buy some food - a greek booth, I think with things like falafel and gyros. There were lots of men behind the counter. Dark haired men in aprons with spatulas and such. There was shouting - though no anger per se - just shouting orders and nexts and numbers like - hey! 149! Gyro up! But when it was my turn to place an order, for some reason I circled around to the backside of the counter and begin to take orders from the big line of people instead. I had a spatula in my own hand now, and was pointing to the next person in line leaning toward them to hear them better. 

There was a woman behind me in an apron. Another worker. She had a spatula and her hair piled high on her head. Lipstick. Chewing gum. A sort of nonchalance and apology all at once. She said - 

Hey. Your hair. It's on fire.

In the next moment I was jostling about in the crowd again, asking my friends if it was obvious. If the burnt off, charred chunk of still-smoking - but now sort of doused and dripping hair - was noticeable. 

Not really, they said. But every time I felt for the spot that had burned, another spark sort of shot out of it and bounced off my shoulder.