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Sometimes nothing is more satisfying than a good haircut. Admittedly, the first time I went to my new favorite hairstylist, I was scared shitless.

I told him I just wanted a trim, something down to the hairline on the sides but not too short on top. All he seemed to hear was, “Not too short” because that was all he said. Before he could even start cutting, he was already in an argument with the barber next to him. All I could understand was, “I am profeshional.” I think they were arguing about shaving the back of the neck with an old-school razor. I think.

The next thing I know, he’s whipped out an electric razor and half the hair on the side of my head was missing. I was literally freaking out, muscles tense, eyebrows furrowed; but I waited it out and it turned out fine. He brought out the old school razor and everything, just plain awesome. He always asks if you want gel but it always sounds like, “You want Jill?” The first time, I had no idea what he was talking about, so, like a dumbass, I agreed: “Um, yeah, of course.” The next couple of times, I’ve come prepared and have always said no.

He used to be seven blocks away by foot and two blocks away by the 6. Now he’s like 45 minutes away by the 3 and the Q, but it’s pretty much worth it. I get to read and see hot chicks again.

Today when I walked in and described how I wanted my hair cut, he said, “That’s right, I remember you. You remember me?” I was like, “Of course, that’s why I keep coming back, right?” And then he cut off half my hair and instilled like half my confidence again. I said no to the gel, but felt amazing while walking against the crowd and looking important while walking past hot chicks. mmmmhot chicks.


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