The inside of the barber shop was warm, even in the summer with air conditioning, always a few degrees away from being uncomfortable. Three chairs sat against the left side of the shop, in front of big mirrors, opposite the same amount of windows that overlooked thick vegetation and the stream somewhere below.
"Give him a bowl cut," Pop Pop announced as the barber grabbed a booster seat from under the counter. I jumped up mom one fluid motion and was ready.
"Let me grab a bowl from the back," the barber said, adjusting the giant bib's collar around my neck. The smurk in the corner of his mouth gave him away.
The barber was ten or so years younger than Pop Pop, still an old guy by my account. He wore big, almost square glasses against his small, silver topped head. Every time I saw him he wore the same white barber coat, sometimes with a towel draped around his neck.
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