Color sorts itself within minutes of hitting the floor, dark strands settling closest to the chair and grey drifting outward on its own, as if gravity sorted for pigment, which it does not. A broom moves through every twenty minutes or so during a busy afternoon, gathering the pile into a low ridge before the dustpan takes it in one motion, and the whole cycle starts again before the next customer sits down.
Volume varies more by day of the week than by any single haircut: a Saturday produces roughly triple the clippings of a Tuesday, though no one cut sheds more than another, the difference coming entirely from how many chairs turn over rather than how much any one head contributes. Static keeps the finest hair airborne longer than the rest, so a fresh sweep looks cleanest for about a minute before the lightest strands settle back into the exact spots just cleared. No shop along a six block stretch has been seen sweeping the clippings into anything but a dustpan bound for the same bin as the coffee grounds and the receipts, no separate treatment, no distinction by color once the broom has finished. By closing, the floor looks as it did at opening, which is the only standard anyone has ever held it to.