“This is a two here.”
“O.K.”
A switch is yanked and the buzzing commences. The sliding glass door is open, and the patient is seated. Out of nowhere forms the designated barber, standing indoors as the radio blares in the backdrop. “… she’s alone… I’m alone… and now I know it.” Hair falls gently to the ground, and the patient gazes off beyond the horizon, past the sky and into the stars. What does he see there?
“That movie is so good, I can’t wait to see it again.”
“Which one?”
“Oh yeah, that chick is naked all the time.”
“She’s so hot, too.”
The conversation appears crass and without substance, but actually it is the way the words are conveyed that express their true meaning, which is far from crass and without substance. Only we know this. The buzzing continues as hair disappears and scalp shines through.
“I might recommend that you go a little shorter.”
“Why?”
“Because of your baldness.”
“Oh.”
The current tune terminates, and I sit around wondering what I should do. Without music I am unable to live, for music is my source of vitality. Because of its beats my heart understands its only job in life, to beat.
“Michael, what did I say your job was?”
“I know.”
“What’s his job?” asks the barber.
“To put on Dylan after the song on the radio is over, and it’s over.”
A laugh groans through the air and is soon suffocated by the oppressive branches of nature. I can no longer hear the voice of my compadres because Dylan is moaning for man through the speakers. “how does it feel… how does it feel… to be on your own… with no direction home… a complete unknown… like a rolling stone.”
