I stepped into the barber shop and the air was heavy with mystery and… something else. I couldnt quite put my finger on it, but something was strange. My barber, a friendly old man by the name of Pete, emerged from the back room with his hands full clean, fluffy red towels. He g
Cutting hair. Cutting edge stuff. To cut someones hair, it’s not always easy. But when they do, they really talk a lot, and it’s always fun listening to them tell stories and they feel like people who really want to know about you. Hell if anything, barbers are the people who know more about everyone than even their loved ones. Barbers are angels.
my grandfather was once a barber in his early years of life. I remember going into his shop once before, and everyone told me how much they adored my strawberry blonde hair. It was quite a thrill for a young tot. I go to a salon called Van Michaels now. It’s wonderful, and in Atlanta. I love getting my hair done, and barbers are so nice to me. In the spring time I will be a model for a barber shop in Atlanta.
I couldn’t believe it. The fro sitting in the Barber’s shop. This magnificent thing staring at me from behind the window. It was a work of art like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
The barber man was tall and pale with broad shoulders and piercing eyes. He stood on the corner, his eyes, curious, searching the street before him. Plenty of cars of all shapes and sizes, passed him by, but only one caught his attention. It was an expensive looking car that was modern, and grey in colour. Sitting on the cafe stool, i watched him through the window. He was wearing a dark suit and tie, attire too formal for a suburban town like this one.
The car pulled over to the side of the road, next too the barber. I got out my camera and took several photos. Although the door was open, their mumbling was indistinct an incoherant. I recognised the man in the car. James Wood. I hadn’t seen him in six years, when I watched him murder three innocent people before my very eyes (one of them being my father). Since that day, I had sworn to be the one to put him behind bars once and for all.
he was a barber. It was his passion, his expertise. But no one appreciated his art. They believed it was a job for the poor. He knew he could be better.
I never cut my son’s hair, or was at a haircut for my son, until he was at least 8. Before that, his Grandma (Nana), would wisk him away to the Barber shoppe in Lawrence, before I could ever even think that he needed a haircut. It annoyed me.
snip. snip. snip. the shuffling of a broom. shaving lather. a red and white spinning pole. football. little boys in for their first haircut with their fathers, some brave, some crying.
a hair trim, a new look, a taming of the wild mane. Bit by bit, the hair falls down, the locks grow short. Whatever weariness or heaviness that ghosts cling onto, is now gone. Wind blows, short locks whisk behind, an easy breeze running its curious fingers. no longer tangled, vivacious, full of life.
He likes girls with short hair. And maybe for once, I won’t do the opposite.
help me. im stuck in the barbers pole. i just go round and round all day. i have perpetual motion sickness. I just want to see my family. ill never be free.
I cumy hair today at the barber and look what did they done to my hair?! oh my God I don’t know what to do! should I buy a wig? maybe.. but I have no moneeeeeyyyyy! o.O
I just dont like the word barber. I feel like it’s something that’s just outdated. I know of one place, in my hometown that uses the term barber shop, and it’s some 90 year old who just talks about hunting and other weird stuff. Also if females go into his shop, its akward. When I used to go in with my dad it was terrible. I dreaded the days that i was forced to do this. I also only did this because it was right next to my friends house, and we’d sneak off and smoke cigs. I guess barber reminds me of being a rebellious teenager. Weird.
The barber cut and snipped and shaved and glossed. The barber was not an especially talkative man, but he had pride in what he did. Almonds were always in a jar next to the combs and the scissors.
The old red leather seat is cracking but the chrome at the base is as good as new. I wonder if it will be a really short-back-and sides deal this time. spiky and looking like a freshly mown lawn on a summer’s day. It was his grin that got her. Seeing the old photo brought back all this.
Barbers are for men – at least round here, in this Wiltshire backwater. I hardly ever visit a hairdresser, but I suppose the day will dawn when I need to take my little grandson to the barber, sit him in that huge chair, and watch his precious hair drift to the floor.
The barber’s swift hands flew as he focused his attention on his client. It had been a busy day so far, and it didn’t look like things were slowing down anytime soon. Saturdays were always busy days for him, mainly because everyone wanted to look good in church the next day in this sleepy town.
i used to go with my dad to the barber shop. i always thought it would be more exciting than it actually was. i just sat there looking at magazine that were meant for middle aged men, as a young girl. but i loved spending time with my dad in the car on the way there and back. plus, he would usually buy us some ice cream on the way home.
She sat in her room, feeling like she had no life left. Her world was crowded with dirty strands of hair. She only had one option. To find a barber. Once her hair was cut, she smiled at last.
a barber is the one who cuts our hair
he is very necessary because he is the one who can take care of the way we look because of the haircut. and else is that its not that we completely depend on him, but ya we can too!
he cuts hair like it has been too long. inch by inch. cut by cut. strand by strand the barber goes and goes up and down all around. an artist. an artist filled with creations no one can think of. a beauticion. it’s art. it requires school. True beauty is filled with complexities. If anything hair art is the metaphor for that.
I’m pretty sure that whatever I write will be influenced by what my friend had written earlier about it. I didn’t mean to read it before I wrote my one word shpeel today, I just looked at his blog. So now I’m halfway done and all I’ve done is give an excuse as to why I can’t think of anything to write: Because it will be to similar to my friend’s. For some reason this awesome quote comes to mind: ” If I have an apple, and you have an apple, and we trade apples, then we both each still have one apple. But if I have an idea, and you have an idea, and we trade ideas, then we both have two ideas.”
I swallowed as I watched another clump of hair fall to the floor. It was for the best, seeing as it was going to fall out anyway. Still, after years of having it down to my waist, it was difficult to watch it all go. Snip, snip, snip. Then came the razor. That was not something I was looking forward to.
sweeney todd the murderer! johnny depp is so weird. can he ever play a normal role? i’m over him. the whole meat pie concept was pretty creepy. cannabalism is a touchy subject.
Old
Reminds me of watching Stephen Fry in America and him going to a Barber shop and explaining what ‘front back and sides’ meant.
This guy was like, whuuuh
And did what he wanted anyway
in my experience quite an odd place. your hair gets shorter but your interest in the inside of your eyelids grows enormously. getting a traditional barber haircut is nowhere near as exciting as one would expect such a visceral throwback to a bygone era to be. oh well.
bar ber shop today was fun. we talked about beting on sports game. steelers to be specific. which is weir because i was rooting for the packers in the super bowl. i like aaron ordgers a lot, the niners past up on him in the draft but i dont htnink he would have been as good if he went to the niners because they are a shitty organizeation. hopefully they are on their way up though.
The barber leaned back, measuring the lock of hair. It was nearly long enough, but needed perhaps a bit more. He lovingly rolled it back up, tying a bow around the loops, and slid it back into his desk drawer. He walked back to a dim closet, peering inside. The doll was lifelike, and soon, would be ready.
“Take a little off the top” Edmund said to his barber. “And by a little, I mean four pints.” The barber opened the clay pot full of leeches and got to work. Edmund felt better by the time he lost consciousness.
I don’t believe I’ve ever been to one, considering I’m female. Granted, we all tend to get the same image when we hear the word, I’m sure. A red and white spiraling pole and an old man with clippers . . . how old-fashioned, indeed. Probably beats the hell out of going to the hairdressers — I hate those gossipy bitches.
The sheep farmer laid his heavy crop of curls backwards on the chair. ola — felipe he roared at the wizened man visble in the back premises — hola – you old ram came the reply — in for a clipping you weasely little bastard — it’ll take more than that to fill enough bags for the merchant you rancid tup!
Being a barber would be so much fun. I like the conversations that take place in a barber shop between men,. And men don’t do much to their hair. Just a little off the sides please….
the barber is chinese, the hairdresser from malaga. i just want a haircut and i have to climb a mountain of language to express what i want. no matter, i always end up with the ‘algo distinto’ i swore that – this time – i was gonna be able to decline. who knew hair could be so complicated?
He sees then come in one after the other. Same $10 bucks, same haircut.
No, soldier I can’t leave it a little long on the sides.
They never stop asking. I could do this job with my eyes shut. I think there’s times i have…
Before there was a base was in town, my grandpa was the best barber for miles. He was known for his close, lime scented shaves and hot towel wraps. He gave guys style. Now, it’s the same buzz cut and $10 bucks.
Yeah, so who’s next?
he has hair, he needs it in fact, he loves to cut it, however he hates losing it. he is somewhat pricey because he fights for quality haircuts, people judge him because he is not the stereotypical black guy that cuts hair.
barbers are cool. they cut hair and stuff. my friend claims to have done cocaine with a barber. barbers have toothbrush mustaches. they also have those things that spin outside their shop. they are red and white. in video games, barbers can often change your entire face.
I stepped into the barber shop and the air was heavy with mystery and… something else. I couldnt quite put my finger on it, but something was strange. My barber, a friendly old man by the name of Pete, emerged from the back room with his hands full clean, fluffy red towels. He g
Cutting hair. Cutting edge stuff. To cut someones hair, it’s not always easy. But when they do, they really talk a lot, and it’s always fun listening to them tell stories and they feel like people who really want to know about you. Hell if anything, barbers are the people who know more about everyone than even their loved ones. Barbers are angels.
my grandfather was once a barber in his early years of life. I remember going into his shop once before, and everyone told me how much they adored my strawberry blonde hair. It was quite a thrill for a young tot. I go to a salon called Van Michaels now. It’s wonderful, and in Atlanta. I love getting my hair done, and barbers are so nice to me. In the spring time I will be a model for a barber shop in Atlanta.
cutting and pruning and shearing identity..long and white, clean and bald…raising his head up to point the tip of his beard toward heaven…
I couldn’t believe it. The fro sitting in the Barber’s shop. This magnificent thing staring at me from behind the window. It was a work of art like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
The barber man was tall and pale with broad shoulders and piercing eyes. He stood on the corner, his eyes, curious, searching the street before him. Plenty of cars of all shapes and sizes, passed him by, but only one caught his attention. It was an expensive looking car that was modern, and grey in colour. Sitting on the cafe stool, i watched him through the window. He was wearing a dark suit and tie, attire too formal for a suburban town like this one.
The car pulled over to the side of the road, next too the barber. I got out my camera and took several photos. Although the door was open, their mumbling was indistinct an incoherant. I recognised the man in the car. James Wood. I hadn’t seen him in six years, when I watched him murder three innocent people before my very eyes (one of them being my father). Since that day, I had sworn to be the one to put him behind bars once and for all.
he was a barber. It was his passion, his expertise. But no one appreciated his art. They believed it was a job for the poor. He knew he could be better.
I never cut my son’s hair, or was at a haircut for my son, until he was at least 8. Before that, his Grandma (Nana), would wisk him away to the Barber shoppe in Lawrence, before I could ever even think that he needed a haircut. It annoyed me.
snip. snip. snip. the shuffling of a broom. shaving lather. a red and white spinning pole. football. little boys in for their first haircut with their fathers, some brave, some crying.
a hair trim, a new look, a taming of the wild mane. Bit by bit, the hair falls down, the locks grow short. Whatever weariness or heaviness that ghosts cling onto, is now gone. Wind blows, short locks whisk behind, an easy breeze running its curious fingers. no longer tangled, vivacious, full of life.
He likes girls with short hair. And maybe for once, I won’t do the opposite.
help me. im stuck in the barbers pole. i just go round and round all day. i have perpetual motion sickness. I just want to see my family. ill never be free.
help.
help me.
please.
I cumy hair today at the barber and look what did they done to my hair?! oh my God I don’t know what to do! should I buy a wig? maybe.. but I have no moneeeeeyyyyy! o.O
I just dont like the word barber. I feel like it’s something that’s just outdated. I know of one place, in my hometown that uses the term barber shop, and it’s some 90 year old who just talks about hunting and other weird stuff. Also if females go into his shop, its akward. When I used to go in with my dad it was terrible. I dreaded the days that i was forced to do this. I also only did this because it was right next to my friends house, and we’d sneak off and smoke cigs. I guess barber reminds me of being a rebellious teenager. Weird.
The barber cut and snipped and shaved and glossed. The barber was not an especially talkative man, but he had pride in what he did. Almonds were always in a jar next to the combs and the scissors.
The old red leather seat is cracking but the chrome at the base is as good as new. I wonder if it will be a really short-back-and sides deal this time. spiky and looking like a freshly mown lawn on a summer’s day. It was his grin that got her. Seeing the old photo brought back all this.
Barbers are for men – at least round here, in this Wiltshire backwater. I hardly ever visit a hairdresser, but I suppose the day will dawn when I need to take my little grandson to the barber, sit him in that huge chair, and watch his precious hair drift to the floor.
The barber’s swift hands flew as he focused his attention on his client. It had been a busy day so far, and it didn’t look like things were slowing down anytime soon. Saturdays were always busy days for him, mainly because everyone wanted to look good in church the next day in this sleepy town.
i used to go with my dad to the barber shop. i always thought it would be more exciting than it actually was. i just sat there looking at magazine that were meant for middle aged men, as a young girl. but i loved spending time with my dad in the car on the way there and back. plus, he would usually buy us some ice cream on the way home.
She sat in her room, feeling like she had no life left. Her world was crowded with dirty strands of hair. She only had one option. To find a barber. Once her hair was cut, she smiled at last.
Barber shop. Haircut stop. Cutting Place, to change my face. Well not my head, but the stuff on top of it.
a barber needs a sisccor to cut the hair in a nice stylish way so he helps people to feel confident in keeping them stylish and good looking.
a barber is the one who cuts our hair
he is very necessary because he is the one who can take care of the way we look because of the haircut. and else is that its not that we completely depend on him, but ya we can too!
he cuts hair like it has been too long. inch by inch. cut by cut. strand by strand the barber goes and goes up and down all around. an artist. an artist filled with creations no one can think of. a beauticion. it’s art. it requires school. True beauty is filled with complexities. If anything hair art is the metaphor for that.
I’m pretty sure that whatever I write will be influenced by what my friend had written earlier about it. I didn’t mean to read it before I wrote my one word shpeel today, I just looked at his blog. So now I’m halfway done and all I’ve done is give an excuse as to why I can’t think of anything to write: Because it will be to similar to my friend’s. For some reason this awesome quote comes to mind: ” If I have an apple, and you have an apple, and we trade apples, then we both each still have one apple. But if I have an idea, and you have an idea, and we trade ideas, then we both have two ideas.”
I swallowed as I watched another clump of hair fall to the floor. It was for the best, seeing as it was going to fall out anyway. Still, after years of having it down to my waist, it was difficult to watch it all go. Snip, snip, snip. Then came the razor. That was not something I was looking forward to.
sweeney todd the murderer! johnny depp is so weird. can he ever play a normal role? i’m over him. the whole meat pie concept was pretty creepy. cannabalism is a touchy subject.
Old
Reminds me of watching Stephen Fry in America and him going to a Barber shop and explaining what ‘front back and sides’ meant.
This guy was like, whuuuh
And did what he wanted anyway
in my experience quite an odd place. your hair gets shorter but your interest in the inside of your eyelids grows enormously. getting a traditional barber haircut is nowhere near as exciting as one would expect such a visceral throwback to a bygone era to be. oh well.
bar ber shop today was fun. we talked about beting on sports game. steelers to be specific. which is weir because i was rooting for the packers in the super bowl. i like aaron ordgers a lot, the niners past up on him in the draft but i dont htnink he would have been as good if he went to the niners because they are a shitty organizeation. hopefully they are on their way up though.
The barber leaned back, measuring the lock of hair. It was nearly long enough, but needed perhaps a bit more. He lovingly rolled it back up, tying a bow around the loops, and slid it back into his desk drawer. He walked back to a dim closet, peering inside. The doll was lifelike, and soon, would be ready.
“Take a little off the top” Edmund said to his barber. “And by a little, I mean four pints.” The barber opened the clay pot full of leeches and got to work. Edmund felt better by the time he lost consciousness.
I don’t believe I’ve ever been to one, considering I’m female. Granted, we all tend to get the same image when we hear the word, I’m sure. A red and white spiraling pole and an old man with clippers . . . how old-fashioned, indeed. Probably beats the hell out of going to the hairdressers — I hate those gossipy bitches.
The sheep farmer laid his heavy crop of curls backwards on the chair. ola — felipe he roared at the wizened man visble in the back premises — hola – you old ram came the reply — in for a clipping you weasely little bastard — it’ll take more than that to fill enough bags for the merchant you rancid tup!
Being a barber would be so much fun. I like the conversations that take place in a barber shop between men,. And men don’t do much to their hair. Just a little off the sides please….
barber
the barber is chinese, the hairdresser from malaga. i just want a haircut and i have to climb a mountain of language to express what i want. no matter, i always end up with the ‘algo distinto’ i swore that – this time – i was gonna be able to decline. who knew hair could be so complicated?
He sees then come in one after the other. Same $10 bucks, same haircut.
No, soldier I can’t leave it a little long on the sides.
They never stop asking. I could do this job with my eyes shut. I think there’s times i have…
Before there was a base was in town, my grandpa was the best barber for miles. He was known for his close, lime scented shaves and hot towel wraps. He gave guys style. Now, it’s the same buzz cut and $10 bucks.
Yeah, so who’s next?
snip,snip,snip cut,cut,cut that is what they do. make you look snazy and crazy too. some barbers look crazy and cool. and my barber is me!
he has hair, he needs it in fact, he loves to cut it, however he hates losing it. he is somewhat pricey because he fights for quality haircuts, people judge him because he is not the stereotypical black guy that cuts hair.
barbers are cool. they cut hair and stuff. my friend claims to have done cocaine with a barber. barbers have toothbrush mustaches. they also have those things that spin outside their shop. they are red and white. in video games, barbers can often change your entire face.