Barber Shop

More than once I've thought that I'da been better off born 50 years ago, in somewhat simpler times. I've been convicted of bein' a tech junkie a time or two, which I cain't deny, but I find myself hankerin' for the good ol' days pretty frequently.

Before kickin' up some dust on the back roads on the way to camp, I swung through town to pick up a few things. While headin' down the main drag, I recollected there was a barber shop there that I'd gotten chopped at maybe ten years ago, and I'll be damned if it wasn't still there. Bein' that I have to look somewhat presentable for my neice's Christening on Sunday, I figgered I'd get my ears lowered since I wasn't in a hurry.

I opened up the door and was greeted by that ol' barber shop smell. No frilly shampoos and soaps like most other hair cutteries... just the smell of warm Barbasol and age. A few ancient deer racks and snapper shells were hangin' on the wall, dulled by plenty of time and dust. Other old knick-knacks were scattered about, and the newest thing in the room was the newspaper and an ol' Compaq Presario that must been at least 15 years old. On the counter was a simple sign; Back At Noon. Mind you, nothin' was locked and nobody was in the place, which is the way I wish it was everywhere.

Since I had a few minutes to kill, I took advantage of one of the New-Gen things I kinda like (mostly). I pulled out my phone, snapped a few pictures and played around on Instagram for a bit