It takes 6 and a half minutes of vapid attention to scrape my big melon clean.
This hair-cut takes 45. And I am told:
what’s what
what should be
what is lamentably not so.
He is fearless. No doubt, no hint of uncertainty surfaces in this time. At points I wonder: I am leaving this chair with my ears attached? How close is that blade to my throat?
It’s Valentine’s Day. What’s it mean?
You decide.
