The man in the chair told the barber to take a little off the top, but not too much. He closed his eyes and thought about how he had gone around the world many times without ever really going into it. Yes, he told himself, that was a felicitous phrase indeed. He filed it alongside all the other peerless aphorisms and apothegms of his life: how jazz was audible brushstrokes, how the paths you choose have already chosen you, how one unkind face in a crowd grows until it eclipses the rest, how sleep was time inhaling. He opened his eyes to see his hair cut to the length of a newborn chick’s, and it was all he could do to stop himself from leaping to his feet and throttling the barber.
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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