12 Fade Haircut Black
At one of those makeshift coronavirus parking lot/concrete barrier/circus covering eateries the governor has fabricated so popular, the chat angry to haircuts.
“Three months, no cut,” I said. “The longest I’ve gone in years.”
“I like your continued hair,” Mrs. Mullane said. “You assume dangerous.”
“I’ve heard that,” I said. “But I feel like a sheep. Maybe I should aloof go to a acreage and get sheared.”
As I sipped my alcohol a deep, abrasive articulation abaft said, “Yo, mac — you charge a haircut?”
Startled, I turned. Abaft at the abutting table was a ample man in a white linen suit.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I said.
The man in linen looked around. Lowering his articulation he said, “I apperceive a guy.”
He slipped a baby cardboard into my hand. On it was an abode in a adjacent town.
“When you get there,” he said, attractive around, “go bottomward the alleyway amid the edger boutique and the liquor store. There’ll be a red aperture on the left. Don’t go to the dejected door, understand? Knock three times fast, three slow, three fast. Aback they ask who it is, you say” — he glanced about — “’the Fat Man beatific me.’”
Someone’s acid beard in abuse of the governor’s circling block decrees? Probably some little guy acquisitive for the old normal, the coward/deserter.
I handed the abode to my wife, who didn’t admit it. Aback I angry to ask the man in white linen the name of the place, he was gone.
Next day at lunch, I pulled up to the address. There was the edger boutique and liquor store, both accomplishing able-bodied business. In amid was the alleyway entrance. Feeding the beat I nervously looked around. Sweat broke. I approved acting casual, but my address admiring suspicion from masked strangers.
“You lost?” a articulation said. It was a artery cop on a abundance bike. He had pulled up abaft me. My amateurishness triggered his spidey sense.
“Lost my keys,” I said.
“They’re in your hand,” said the cop.
“Oh yeah,” I said.
His eyes were laser-locked on me as he dismounted. He was about to say article aback a alarm came on his radio, and he had to go.
“Have a nice day,” he said.
“You, too,” I said. “Thanks for all you do, officer.”
As he wheeled away, I ducked into the alley. It was aphotic and cool. Somewhere in the caliginosity baptize dripped, alveolate off age-old red brick walls. Twenty anxiety in, there was the red door. I agape short, long, short. A aperture opened. Aphotic eyes peered out.
“The Fat Man beatific me,” I said.
The aperture shut. Locks and accelerate bolts were undone. The aperture creaked open, I stepped inside, and the aperture was shut, locks and slides reset.
“Pat him down,” a man in atramentous said.
“He’s clean,” said abbreviate guy with a butt cigar clenched in his teeth.
“You appetite a mask?” the man in atramentous asked.
“Got one,” I said.
“Gloves?”
“No thanks.”
“Hazmat suit?”
“I’m good.”
“We accept nice one in 42 regular.”
“Pass.”
“Sanitizer’s on your left. Anybody sanitizes. No exceptions,” he said.
He told the cigar butt guy, “Take him to cardinal three.”
He led silently bottomward a attenuated aisle lit by bald bulbs. We came to a aperture with a sign, “Hairway to Heaven.”
A adolescent stylist with abbreviate atramentous beard and arm tattoos waited.
She asked, “Anyone see you?”
“Bike cop, but he larboard afore allurement questions,” I said.
“Close one,” she said. “What you want?”
“Number 2 all around, razor the sides, achromatize the back.”
She got to work, no chit-chat. After awhile, I bankrupt the silence.
“Crazy world, ain’t it?”
“And we aloof alive in it,” she said.
Fifteen account later, my winter advance was in blubbery mounds on the floor. She captivated a mirror so I could see the fade.
“You’re an artiste,” I said.
“Just a coward-deserter aggravating to eat,” she said.
Emerging from the aphotic alleyway into ablaze sunshine aching my eyes.
I absolved the street, a capital business district. It was about abandoned of bodies and traffic. Newly acquaint “For Lease” and “For Rent” signs were everywhere. A assurance acquaint to a artery lamp said, “Welcome to the Wolf Zone.” Passing a shuttered mom-and-pop eatery, I peered into the blurred dining room.
A drifter came up and said, “This abode was consistently so active at lunch. Now, bankrupt for good.”
“I’d do annihilation aloof to sit in a booth and sip coffee from a absolute cup,” I said.
“You beggarly like an eat-in diner? Breakfast? Lunch?”
“Breakfast, lunch, tables, booths, people, chatter, laughter. I’d pay bristles bucks aloof for one cup of coffee, to feel accustomed again.”
The man looked around. He bargain his voice.
“I apperceive a guy ….”
Columnist JD Mullane can be accomplished at 215-949-5745 or at [email protected]
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