Through the Plexiglass

I’m feeling a little lightheaded. Had to nip down to Stockbridge, wandered past the barber’s on the way home, there was no one waiting in his plexiglass cubicles, so in I went. “Don’t take too much off” I said “it’s freezing outside.” “OK” says he, which is Turkish for “Prepare to be shorn, my gullible friend.” To be fair, he’s been closer to my scalp in the past but he seemed positively deflated when, at the glasses back on/check the mirror stage, I declined his offer to just cut off a little more. And by the way it was freezing outside.