fur

you are made to sit on a revolving chair.
the radio plays some music.
the air around smells of talcum powder.
you sit comfortable and remove your spectacles.
you get ready.
the man gets closer, asks you what.
'army', 'military' you say and he smiles at you.
you return the smile.
he plugs in the handheld machine and gets closer.
then for the next five minutes you hear the hum of the machine.
the machine moves around your head, vibrations on your scalp, your skull.
after five minutes he stops the machine.
he picks up a comb and a pair of scissors.
he sculpts the lines that demarcate the long from the short.
the difference slowly vanishes, then there is the pleasant satisfactory gradient.
then he snips around click and click, music to your ears, the metallic clicks of the scissors.
then he pulls out a knife looking razor, then half a razor blade, new.
scritch and scritch and the hazy lines sharpen, forming distinct boundaries.
then in the end , in the mirror there is you and the man next to you, both smiling.
'this wasn't me when i came here' you think to yourself.
the man next to you then pulls out a cotton puff and sprinkles talcum powder on it.
talcum powder on your neck.
then there is an exchange of money.
'well done' you think to yourself as you walk out the glass door.
someone else takes your seat.
the man gets closer to the revolving chair, asks him what.