the barber’s shop

After a wasted morning contemplating the mysteries of human religion, i decided to at least do one worthwhile thing to save the day, and sauntered over to the barber’s shop two doors down the street and next to the dry cleaner, since it was, once again, high time i did something with my hirsute head. The barber was busy cutting a young boy’s hair as i came in whom i presumed to be his son or at least a close relative from the many more or less vocal complaints he playfully uttered throughout the process. He did, however, pay in the end, thereby shattering at least the stronger version of my hypothesis. Then came my turn. Sharing an insuperable language barrier, my barber and i took full advantage of our mutual silence. For his part, he was able to dispense with the western hair dresser’s hypocritical inquiry as to how the client would like his hair cut and to forthwith proceed with the ideal hairstyle to which he had already predestined me. We were also able to forgo the usual chatter about my education, provenance and travels or his latest vacation, which freed up over a dozen minutes during which i strove to formulate the very contents of this decidedly light-headed post.

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2 Comments to “the barber’s shop”

  1. Is it the haircut with the corner part? =D

  2. well… not anymore… 🙂

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