Ezra sets the mirror down. Picks up his helmet. This time, he holds it like a helmet, not a bomb.
O4M sweeps the fallen hair into a small pile. He pauses, looks at the middle chair, then at the mirror. o4m barbershop sc. 2
You’re holding your helmet like it’s a bomb. And you sat in the middle chair. First-timers always sit in the middle. They think it’s neutral. It’s not. The middle chair is for men who can’t decide what they want. Ezra sets the mirror down
He picks up the folded apron from the armrest. Shakes it out. Holds it for a moment—like a man remembering a handshake. O4M sweeps the fallen hair into a small pile
The clippers move in steady, careful strokes. The sound is rhythmic—almost musical. The light through the dusty window shifts.
He combs his fingers through Ezra’s hair—slow, professional, impersonal.