Every four months she cuts my hair
Scissors, tattoos
Her name starts with an A
One of those newer ones
Allyssa or Allison
Not Agnes or Alice
She's young
No wrinkles
No marks of divorce
or bad credit
We talk
The work
The weather
I tell her I'm going back to college,
that I'm getting grayer
One here, two there
It's all there:
The worried lines
The bad marks
The average credit
"So, how old are you?" she asks, her fingers pale.
I tell her
Her face doesn't register anything
She's seen me before
She's done her own math
"You look ten years younger."
My folks had me young
Too young
In L.A
Maybe that had something to do with it
I don't know
I wonder how many haircuts I've had
The buzz cuts
The feathered jobs
And how many more I'll have
When it's all over
There will be a number
There always is
That motherfucker had 106 haircuts
He packed for Yosemite 17 times
He drank moonshine 3 times
He
He
She runs my card and I sign
I take note I've been spending
a lot of money lately
Piling more shit around me
She sees the tip and thanks me
I was a waiter
For years
Dropping off burgers and butter
I was young
I remember
"Thanks again," I say. "If you make it to Yosemite do a little hiking. See the park. Don't just get drunk and feed the squirrels."
