A Lifetime

There's a man I want to meet. I saw him sitting in his red chair outside his shop entrance. He was dressed with impeccable style - white dress shirt, black suit pants, suspenders, red bow tie, not a hair out of place. I wondered if he was breathing he sat so still.

I've heard about him from a friend. He cuts my friend's hair. He charges seven dollars for the latest style from New York, London, Berlin, Paris, Rome.

I am filled with curiosity. He drives in to his shop every day from Toronto. Every day. He has eight red leather chairs inside - the ones with the foot pump that raises a head of hair to cutting height. He has the shaving creme mugs with the shaving creme brushes and the leather straps for sharpening the blades.

I've been told he's been a barber for over 70 years. I saw him check his watch. Seven o'clock time to close. I saw his curved back and ear-high shoulders. I saw him leave his chair and enter his shop.

There's a man I want to meet. Another day, perhaps.