It was a windy autumn morning.  A strong, but relieving breeze blew through the street, occasionally causing the matte black top hats of the businessmen in suits to fall off. As the wind danced through the streets, the leaves swirled in a graceful ballet, creating a mosaic of red, orange, and yellow hues on the pavement. The sound of crisp, crunchy leaves being stepped on seemed to persist despite the Propaganda Minister giving a speech about being a responsible and loyal citizen on the nearby podium.      Julia glanced at her clock. It was noon. At this time of day, the tea rations would normally be issued. But the colourful stand draped with government banners that ordinarily distributed the tea packs was empty today. That didn't stop a crowd from forming near the empty stand demanding tea, though. 'They've lost India,' thought Julia as she walked at a brisk pace to the barbershop. It was just over the corner, but she already felt her knees shaking. She wiped the sweat beads off her forehead, eyeing it with contempt as it fell towards the sizzling cement and evaporated. She hated sweat: it would make her smell. In her mind she pictured Amar Ramdanichan lecturing her on appearance; she suddenly felt exhausted at the thought. She could feel the heat even in the shade. Paired with the recent fires that were caused by the bombs, London was practically in the middle of a heat wave. She quickened her pace. She had a meeting with the Board of Information today, so the sooner she had her cut, the better.