Kickass at Jeff’s barbershop

Kickass, the doorstop dog, says that the keeper claims that his recent visit to Jeff’s barber shop in Cross Plains had therapeutic value in reassuring him—the keeper, that all is not lost in this contrary world, and you never know when an itinerant memory will be spawned.

The ten or so chairs were all occupied at Jeff’s, so there was a wait, which meant looking at the old-car photos on the walls, and sitting amidst a group of old friends who all knew each other, and listening to their gossip and the jokes that they had all obviously exchanged before.  After a TV diet of inane political punditry it was like listening to Eretha Franklin sing Amazing Grace.

And the keeper was reminded of when, as a journalist, he wrote a column about a very old retiring barber in a small town by, of course, getting a haircut.  It was the worst haircut the keeper ever got, but the experience was worth even the ridicule he suffered from his family and the hats he had to wear until his hair grew out.

Jeff’s haircuts are first rate, utilitarian, fast and priced lower than the big chains.  And then there is that therapeutic factor.


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