A Very Long Haircut

My barber, Sal, has cut my hair every three weeks for eleven years. A haircut takes about fifteen minutes. My appointments take an hour.

That's because Sal talks. About his garden, his grandkids, the Yankees, his theory that pineapple belongs on pizza "only on Fridays." He asks about my job and remembers everything. He knows when my mom had her knee replaced and asked about her for months afterward.

Other customers join in. The guy waiting by the door weighs in on baseball. An old man who doesn't need a haircut sometimes just comes to sit and read the paper.

Last week Sal told me he's thinking about retiring in a few years. I told him he can't. He laughed and said, "Then you'd better learn to cut your own hair." I'd rather not. I'd miss the hour more than the haircut.