"Usually not open at this hour, mister. Had an appointment with one of my regulars, but he didn't show.
Just about to close. Lucky for you I sat down to rest my feet. Best haircut and shave in the Bronx."
As I let myself be drawn into the shop, he bustled around, pulling out scissors and combs and a fresh neckcloth.
"Everything sanitary, as you can see, which is more than I can say for most barbershops in this neighborhood. Haircut and shave?"
I eased myself into the chair. Incredible that he didn't recognize me when I knew him so plainly.
I had to remind myself that he had not seen me in more than fifteen years, and that my appearance had changed even more in the past months.
He studied me in the mirror now that he had me covered with the striped neckcloth, and I saw a frown of faint recognition.
"The works," I said, nodding at the union-shop price list, "haircut, shave, shampoo, sun-tan..."
His eyebrows went up. "I've got to meet someone I haven't seen in a long time," I assured him, "and I want to look my best."
It was a frightening sensation, having him cut my hair again.
Later, as he stropped the razor against leather the harsh whisper made me cringe.
I bent my head under the gentle press of his hand and felt the blade scrape carefully across my neck.
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