September 7, 2016
The scary-good thing today was a hair-cutting event. Martin was quite traumatized at the prospect of turning over his head and hair over to an outlander in a foreign land. He had been going to the same predictable barber, John, for the last twenty years. However, now, even he conceded, he was looking a bit shaggy.
Strolling through downtown Floro, it was beginning to look bleak. It was 4:00 in the afternoon, and most stores were closed for the day. We needed cash. The bank, in a converted warehouse down by the wharf, had closed at 3:30. We finally sought assistance from a grocery clerk, who directed us to a gigantic, rusty anchor, behind which was hidden an ATM.
We took the money and ran, past several “frissors”. They did not embolden him, even though he had a qualified therapist by his side. His therapist achieved complete rapport for his terror, upon sighting the advertisement you see above.
Finally, we ended up at one of the more conservative salons. Martin sat in the chair before Anna, a sweet-voiced German girl with broken English, pink hair, nose piercings, and tattoos all up and down her arms. He took a deep breath, and tried to explain “business cut”.
She commenced. It turned out to be the best haircut I’ve ever seen on Martin. He could get a job in Norway pronto with a style like that. At the thought of “job”, we decided to get out of town fast.