Now a month or so before I'd shaved my head, and was in the position of needing a cheap haircut, the overall grow-in had begun to resemble a bad buzz-cut, it needed some shape.
So off to the barbers, a different one (every time!), the old school signage and location made me think that it'd be a little cheaper than the others, and, really, I didn't need much, a half inch off the sides and a cleaning of the stray hairs...
Downstairs, it's in a basement, a couple of chairs, she beckons me to sit...
I choose the wrong chair, the hairdresser quickly corrects me: "Not THAT chair, that used to be my daughters..."...
And I know now that this is going to be a long cut. Short hair, should be quick, but it isn't.
The story of the chair, she's getting more emotional as she tells it, the picture on the wall, that's her daughter, her problem, the doctor that made things worse, the eventual inadvertent OD, she's waving the scissors, getting mad, madder, the haircut, it goes, I hate this, it's all a bit too much information for a haircut, for a best friend even.
At the end I give her a hug, she's recovered somewhat, this was all too recent for her, too fresh, pay, tip, think about the last 2 Barbers I've been to, I've got to start showing them some loyalty...