Odd Lot at the Barber Shop

Getting a haircut at my local barbershop?on E. 28th St. at 2nd Ave., and called, appropriately, Barber Shop?I found a fellow customer swaying before the mirror, muttering to himself. It's a defensive shop; you have to be buzzed in. The guy was middle-aged; he also happened to be, in the early afternoon, very drunk. He frizzed his hair, then frizzed again until it was a total goddamn mess. Behind him stood a small barber, brandishing a spray can.

"No spray! No spray!" the drunk shouted. "It's perfect!"

"What do you want?" my barber asked. A little off the top, and more off the sides. The scissors began to do their work.

The drunk told everyone in the shop how easy it was to buy hashish in Afghanistan, and after many effusive goodbyes, left. My haircut continued. A young black man rapped on the door. He was buzzed in.

"Yo motherfucker," he said, "you gotta give me a new do-rag, this one's too small. Yo, hey! Service!"

My barber kept cutting. The young black man continued, "You ripped me off, man. Now you're gonna replace it." His cellphone sounded. "Yo baby, I need my hair done. I'll come round after my program. Please pretty please." The barber's cell rang. He stopped cutting and began to speak Russian. Eventually both hung up.

"What the fuck you gonna do about this?" asked the young black man.

"You don't need to talk like that," counseled the barber.

The door buzzed again, admitting the drunk who now demanded he get his head shaved. For some reason, he removed his shirt. A large purple scar bisected his belly; two bullet holes plugged the left upper quadrant of his chest. His right arm appeared to have two elbows in contraposition, one jutting out, the other jutting back. He was given a plastic coat to protect against falling hair. His barber began to shave his head.

"Give me two dollars," said my barber to the black kid.

"I don't have it," said the kid, rattling coins.

"Give me change," said the barber.

The kid rattled his pocket provocatively.

"I've been dreaming a lot," said the drunk, as his hair floated into his lap. "I'm gonna be the biggest star ever. Bigger than the moon." He was looking straight at me.

"I believe you," I replied.

"Door!" shouted the kid, wearing his new, better-fitting do-rag.

My haircut looked fine. I handed my barber his money, and a tip. "For the show," I said.