Hair Cut

Who knows what day it is? I've had no time to count. My life's tunnel is narrowing and yet more and more obligations, duties, and activities are squeezing in and riding along my side.

I managed to have my hair cut this morning. It was the sequel event to yesterdays dead end investigation into the salon world. My barbershop of choice was closed, the day being monday. Sammy's gave me two leads, one around the corner. The one around the corner gave me a few more. After a $12 price estimation and a face full of mixed aroma I was on my way into the freezing weather and heavy wind. The next salon proved no better. I opened the door to  a thousand different perfumes and to many scents than could ever be used decently; the woman behind the counter and the window was laid down in a chair stretched out with her hair in a fuzz, being clamped down and crimped, providing a sight more terrifying than the worst of dentist offices. My view was graciously obscured by a tinkling of feet and a petite living mannequin of costly apparel and streaked hair, her wide eyes made wider by mascara and dance pants promiscuous. 

Do you cut man's hair here? I asked pointing to my head with my fingers beneath woolen gloves.

Nedless to say, they did but I didn't. I had my hair cut this morning by my pal Kenny. He's been cutting hair for 38 years- man's hair. And thats all he cuts. He cuts President Clarke's hair. Elder Bednar's hair was a regular, and before him President Benyon was too. He's been cutting hair almost twice as long as I have been growing it. $12 was a fair price, no student discount, for the best haircut I have ever had in the states. Kenny's my man.



Kenny and Larry's Barbershop, right on the side of Sammy's. They looked at me funny when I asked them if they had wireless, so I don't imagine they have a website.