88 Days Between Haircuts

It’s been 88 days since my last hair cut, at the end of May.

After lunch I got caught in the thunderstorm at Alambé Coffee on Kent, and, fortified by a hearty Alambé Phin Ice Milk Coffee, I made a run for Ray’s Place. I caught them on a good day: walked right in and I was first in line.

Since my May visit they’ve started to require masks for customers, so everyone, barbers and clients, were masked-up. Ray himself was working, and the luck of the draw put me in his chair.

We had a good mask-intermediated chat while he was cutting my hair, and I learned the gymnastics moves required to have him trim my sideburns (I hold the mask on, he manages the ear-loops).

For some reason I feel it’s important to mark events like haircuts in this digital commonplace book.