Coda

When he referred to the state of Florida as “America’s wang,” I should have figured that would be the comparison coming from a guy who was tattooed down both arms, sported a shaved head, and used to write songs for a metal band he toured with in the early 90s.  But he cuts hair well, so that’s why I was sitting in the chair allowing him to bring sharp objects within inches of my jugular vein.

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“Yeah,” he started again, “Florida pisses me off.  I mean, those people down there are there to die…” That’s the over-65 set he’s talking about.  “…they should just realize that they’re there to die.  They shouldn’t go around acting like teenagers, taking away money from the schools and so on.”  Here’s where he kinda lost me, and I decided it was safer territory to ask him about his time on the road with the band.  As you might recall, Dear Reader, I often find myself avoiding the barber because of the forced socialization for which I must pay $15 plus a few dollars’ tip. But my barber for today, we’ll call him Ray, actually was OK if not for his ranting misanthropy against senior citizens, Floridians, anyone not from New England (his family “goes back to the Revolutionary War”), and his former band members, who all ended up unemployed several months after he quit.

“That made me feel pretty good.”

…I’m sorry, Ray, but you’re blocking my view of your state licensure.  Could you move to the left?…

There was something untouched in him.  Like he would hate you for who he thought you were, but once he got to know you, he wouldn’t hate you anymore.  Is this a bit like that nasty pit bull you see on the sidewalk in the morning and are told, Yes, but you just don’t understand him…you have to get to KNOW him…?

He was indeed a bit of a blank slate.  He seems waiting to be written on.  The songwriter, re-Mastered.

photo:  herry