On february 16, 2007 i got a haircut

at a barber shop in the soulard neighborhood. my wife photographed the visit. it takes commitment to grow a mop. we had not been back in country for long after spending two months in northern india. before that, i had spent three moons driving a 1973 volkswagen bus named Boiohaemum around the middle of america, sleeping and writing within his smurfy blue hold, eating dinners and breakfasts with sunsets and sunrises in many nowhere locations and many somewhere spots. my hair grew, as hair does. when home again in saint louis i visited paul, a pleasing russian barber with command of English, wit, clippers and scissors--and breath hinting at nicotine. he removed my hippified burden of shag with knowing precision. paul the barber serves his clients' requests but not without interjecting his passion and textbook know-how. opposed to my simple short-bang flip up topped with a dose of styling gel, he lobbied--and won--for his idea of what he called the Caesar. my first cut in 8+ months. the omission of regular visits to the hair surgeon saved me $150-200, conservative estimate. ever since, my savings has been but pennies via the extended life of a 93-cent apple blossom Suave bottle of shampoo.