Tuesday, September 8th, 2020

I get to the barber shop three minutes late. I apologize. The barber is amused. He offers me a cup of water. I drink it in two gulps, lifting my mask for each. “With the mask,” he says, “everything is difficult. It's hard to drink. It's hard to smile. It is hard to recognize each other. And it's hard to know what the rules are each day.” He beckons me to the chair in the back. He removes my glasses and tucks them into my shirt. I tilt far back as he washes my hair. “The water, is it too hot?” It isn’t. We head over to the chair in the front. Rather than the usual black smock, he puts a clear disposable one on me. He knows how I like my hair. I don’t want to have to think about it. He cuts it short, close to a crew cut in the back. “The women like that. They like to touch men’s necks with the short hair.” Um, OK. “I see you have been out in the sun. Your hair is lighter than before. It looks good.” The haircut costs eighty shekels. I give him four twenties. He is pleased. It makes it easy to give change when other people pay with hundreds. “You be back when, December? January?” I do take a long time between haircuts. Since I’ve been to his shop enough times, though, and he’s punched my customer card for each, we see that the next one will be free. I may not wait as long this time.