Specious

I think I looked a little too cool, so I decided to go get my haircut by a stranger.

I've seen a lot of cheap place on 7th Avenue, below 23rd. It seemed like the right thing to do. Cheap haircut, no fuss, no muss. However the barber I was saddled with was an angry-looking Russian who was possibly gay. Schlubby gay. No matter his orientation, he seemed eager to do anything but cut hair. Especially mine.

He shoved around my head, guiding it with forcible shoves and a finger in my ear. Snipping with little discretion. He took off my apron and said it would be ten dollars. I looked at the finished product every now and then, wondering why it looked so weird to me.

Later that night, I was stranded in Lyndhurst, waiting on my cab. After an hour, and no word from the car I called, I hopped in another cab I saw discharging his passenger. I chatted up my driver about rescuing those in need of a ride on St. Patricks Day, my messenger bag in the seat next to me. As I got out, I tipped the driver about 7 bucks because I was so thankful to get home. He asked me if I was religious. I said no. He said "Oh, I thought you might be a Mormon or something." Then I realized that I have a Mormon's haircut.