![]() Where exactly do I go, you might ask? It’s challenging to provide a straightforward answer. In the barbershop I frequent, sitting on the barber’s chair feels like stepping through a portal to another dimension. Contrary to popular belief, one should not stand between two opposing mirrors, for this act, though innocent, mimics a passageway through the “limbo”. Sitting on the barber’s chair amplifies the latter. I live in two different worlds: the conscious world and another realm I enter whenever I drift off. Consequently, I try to maintain my health as much as possible on my own. It might not be the wisest choice, but I prefer to remain oblivious rather than confront any complexities head-on. ![]() ![]() He’s all too familiar, and I feel incredibly vulnerable in his presence. I simply don’t fare well in small talk, let alone dealing with health issues or potential confrontations that might arise if any medical problems were to be discovered. It’s not that I dislike the person or any of them-actually, I trust mine completely. To be honest, I have a particular aversion to seeing our family doctor, hence the comparison made earlier. Like many, I do everything I can to avoid visiting a medical practitioner, considering the potential disruptions to productivity and the hefty expenses involved. After all, grooming, if not one of the fundamental social norms one should abide by, is an essential aspect of maintaining good health. Despite this, I religiously keep my barber’s appointments as part of my well-kept routine. People often say that one’s hair is the crowning glory of their physical appearance. As long as you show up for your appointments and allow him to work his craft, compensating him, of course, the conversation can remain bearable. He’s been the only barber I’ve had growing up, as far as I can remember. Simple gestures like a wave of the hand, a nod, or a mere shake of the head are enough, especially if you are going to the same one. These can range from diet and vices to sleeping patterns and occasionally even aspects of one’s sex life.Ĭonversely, speaking with a barber can often be a one-sided affair, where responses are not always necessary. Beyond the obvious professional differences, wherein the latter outweighs the former, the nature of discussions with doctors often places one in an uncomfortably vulnerable position, compelling you to divulge personal details and habits. Dealing with barbers, in my opinion, is much more manageable than conversing with doctors. My parents would likely know his exact age, but I haven’t felt the need to inquire further. He seems to be between the ages of 65 and 68, at most, based on my personal observations of his speech and the references he makes. I sat on the gutter, propped on my arms as I looked up.īetween the stars and the satellite, I could never see the difference. I paid up and gave some extra, for the company. This time, I told the driver to just cruise around. No job, no women, I’m simply wasting away. I might have said something smart, that I almost got thrown out.Īll I had was my eighty-proof rhetoric. Ghosts of fog lazily rose up from the gutters, thick as a summer day’s clouds, giving me permission to search for the heroine’s face in the walking crowd.Īt the bar, I got a free round and a half-shrug as a gift. The good ones always had one of those scenes. The world rolled past me like in those films where soft, colorful prisms blotted the windows. Anyway, I was half-awake stretching what was left of the night, never going fast, tired of getting there fast. Every day, there are about 17 million people around the world who are celebrating their birthdays. ![]() But there I was, still alive, breathing in the backseat of a strange car, alone, in the last hours of my day. And it was almost never going to happen – reaching fifty-two. Because yes, all roads lead us to that sort of place when we’re simply lost. I told him the destination or was it what I thought I did? I might have just given the driver the description of where I wanted to go. It was an outstanding display of controlled recklessness, I thought to myself. The driver was an action star and just drove on as if it didn’t happen. We ran over an open manhole and nearly lost a wheel. It was raining but I was able to get a taxi.
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