So there I was, buying some stuff at Park and Shop, then shuftying over to the pirate dvd guy in the car park (you can get all the James Bond's on one DVD for N800), when I get approached by a chap offering an haircut. He offers a reasonable price, and says he will do a good job. I didn't have time to squeeze in a sheer when in the UK last week, so I agree. He works out of one of the local spas in town. I drive him to said spa, and he starts his work. He gives the mop a quick inspection, then suggests I go for a new look (I always have the same trim with zero creativity or thought either on my part or on the part of the cutter). I say why not. It turns out he is a Philipino, and as camp as a campsite. After an hour of finessing my locks with an array of scissors fastened to his waist with a transparent plastic belt and pouch, I end up with a fringe and a swept-to-one-side look that makes me look five years younger and quite the metrosexual. I shall return to his fingers once more..
Music Break No.102–Winter In America edition
3 hours ago