Old Nothing
"When do you suppose they'll
stop?" asked the grey haired man by the window.
"Oh,
sooner or later I suppose," replied the man getting a haircut. It had been
sometime since his last one.
"It's
amazing how he's holding up," answered the first man.
"It's
hardly amazing. What choice does he have?" They all considered this.
"I
suppose you're right."
"Of
course I am."
The barber,
who generally avoided conversation, now spoke up.
"A good
client, that man was."
"What?"
answered the man getting the haircut.
"A good
client. Got his hair cut every two weeks. Never complained. Always gave a fair
tip."
No one said
anything.
"Do you
suppose he has family?" asked the man by the window.
"No. He's
far too young to have a family," answered the barber.
"I
wouldn't know," answered the barber.
The man at the
window refilled his coffee cup from the back room and then returned to the
window.
"Like an
animal really."
"Who?" said the man, now getting his sides thinned. He wondered
whether a man with as little hair as himself should bother with a haircut at
all.
"All of
them I suppose. The beaters and the beatees".
"That's a
funny way of saying it," said the barber.
"Of
saying what?"
"Of
referring to the victim as the beatee."
"Well
that's what he is, isn't he."
No one said
anything.
"The
thing is?" said the man at the window before he paused, "the thing
is, you can never really tell."
"Tell
what?" replied the man who was now getting his neck lathered up for his
shave.
"Whether
he deserved it or not." Silence. "Although I suppose you could say
that no one deserves it." He stared at his coffee.
"It's sad
but true," said the barber.
"What
is?"
"That
things don't always happen for a reason." For a moment he stopped shaving
the man before him and stared out the window. The foam from the blade he was
holding slid down onto his forearm and then fell to his shoe. "Damn
it," he muttered.
"It's
only cream," said the man at the window.
"Damn it
anyways." He walked to the end of the room and wiped his shoe off with a
towel.
"That's
the wrong way to look at it," said the man getting a haircut, "All
people sin and so all people deserve to be sinned against. The beatee deserved
it in one way or another. To say otherwise is to claim he's perfect."
No one said
anything. The sun peaked through the clouds.
"Do you
think the heat will slow them down?" asked the man by the window.
"Slow who
down?"
"The
beaters, of course."
"I think
so," answered the barber. "The heat tends to make people tired. The
sun wears everything out."
Another man
entered the barber shop. The bell on the door gave a slight jingle.
"I work
by appointment only," said the barber.
"But I
need a haircut," answered the man, "I can wait."
The man by the
window laughed. "There's a place down the street that needs the business.
Go there."
The man
quietly left.
"Have you
guys read the paper today?" asked the man getting his hair thinned in the
back.
"A
little," they both answered.
With this, the
man drinking coffee gathered his belongings and wished them both good night. He
stepped out the door and turned in the direction of the beating even though his
destination was the other way. He approached them from the left and stopped to
ask for directions to the nearest diner. The beatee, now covered in blood,
raised his head and pointed in the direction of Hastings, a well known diner.
"I'm
actually looking for something a little more classy, if you know what I
mean."
They all
stopped again. The beatee couldn't raise his head. One of the beaters offered,
"Two block's further is Trent's. Good fish."
"Thank
you. " The man finished his coffee and walked up the road.
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