LING CHI by Steven Holding.
A neon sign fizzles.
BLUNT CULTS.
Scissors snip, hair’s sheared, small talk shared; this barbershop does its best business on a Saturday.
Trims are by appointment only, so the place maintains a pleasing ambience: not so empty that it appears unpopular, not so full as to cramp anyone’s style. The hairdresser’s tools of the trade aren’t the only thing that are cutting edge. Young gunslingers, fingers on pulses, groomed for improvement, big night out looming, bantering to a backbeat of Latino polyrhythms. The hipsters bump fists before sinking into squeaking seats.
But it’s not just the atmosphere that pulls in the punters. Nick has got a lot to do with it. He’s a bona fide master craftsman, legendary skills, been chopping locks all his life. Teasing quiffs, shaping sideburns; the man’s own mane may be greying, but his digits are still nimble when it comes to styling the perfect hairdo.
The coiffeur quaffs coffee, coughs, holds billowing apron aloft.
“PLEASE TAKE A SEAT”
An awaiting dude takes the chair, offers a respectful nod as Nick drapes, twists then tucks in the clean sheet. During this matador-like display, the baby-faced geezer quickly lays down his desires then launches into a dirty joke.
Nick checks the reflection in the mirror before him, angles the boys head, smiles and chuckles in all the right places.
Inside, it is not just a thousand deaths he is dying, it’s somewhere in the millions. He isn’t really listening to the punchline but knows it’s probably perverse.
“WHERE A DOG BURIES ITS BONE IS NONE OF MY CONCERN, AS LONG AS IT’S NOT IN MY BACKYARD!” coos the youth.
Nick is not even sure what this nonsense means, but nonetheless yelps in glee. It seems to generate the right response.
The kid’s gibberish fades away as he clips split ends. Nick slips, drifts, thinks once again, desperate trains of thought riding crushing steel tracks that have squashed his spirit into fine grains of sand.
The disdain he feels for his clients is only outweighed by the hate he reserves for himself.
As always, he questions the trust they display, allowing a stranger’s blade so close to soft skin.
He cuts.
A double whammy! A Happy Halloween to one and all! And Blog Number Fifty to boot!
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