Straight razor

When I was two days or so into living in Kerrville, I stopped by Starbucks (oddly the only one, but which has a killer view for sunsets) on Junction Highway.

As I entered, one of the baristas was saying to another barista, “Nice haircut, dude.” It was the compliment of colleagues who’d spent many an hour making lattes together and occasionally bumping elbows.

“Man,” the other started, “everyone who comments on my haircut says I went to the place where they cut grandmother hair. Everyone tells me, ‘Oh, wow, you shoulda gone here or there‘. I sure wish they would have told me before.”

I studied his coiff. Sure enough, on the right octogenarian, it would do her proud.

So when it came time for my haircut, I scoped it out. Many on Yelp suggested Sanchez, also on Main Street, but it was closed Sunday and yesterday (Monday). I needed a haircut. So I went to Water Street Barbers, and got my cut from a neatly groomed silver-haired man named Autry. (C’mon! This is Texas, baby!) He grew up in Comfort, just south of here, and we had a delightful talk, including where all the speed traps were there and here in town. At the end, he shaved my neck with a straight razor.

It was only after the razor that I reminded him that though my wife was from here, I was born and raised in New York City.

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Sanchez Barber Shop on Main Street, on a gray drizzly morning. Maybe next time.

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