When I was a kid, going to the barbershop was a special occasion. Opening the door and walking past the red and white striped pole was like entering a secret and forbidden temple; a universe where old men gathered to talk about politics and women and complain about how things were never as good as they used to be.
I marvelled at the man in the white apron as he swiped his razor across the leather belt, honing the blade to deadly sharpness before shaving off the whiskers of one of the neighborhood men in… Read more
I marvelled at the man in the white apron as he swiped his razor across the leather belt, honing the blade to deadly sharpness before shaving off the whiskers of one of the neighborhood men in… Read more