Cults
While I was finally getting my haircut, the bell jangled, the door opened, a woman’s sweet voice said, “Hello. Will you shave my daughter’s head?”
The barber closest to the door turned and looked, and considered it. “Maybe. How old is she?” He was Yugoslavian. I liked the way he spoke.
I looked now. All three of us looked. Turning our heads in perfe…
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