I would never pay for a barber. Too bald. Not worth the money. My friends can give me the same buzzcut for less. Maybe they’ll have boobs, my friends. Maybe they’ll rub them on my bald buddha head. Seems much better. No need for a barber.
Blah blah barber blah I have too much time to write all this barber bugger blather.
Byeeee.
Every few weeks he goes to the barber shop on 4th and Elm St. It’s always the same guy working. They bullshit for an hour or so and then he leaves. It’s the only time he goes out nowadays. He’s usually locked in his house, smoking his Pall Mall’s and watching the news.
He stands in a pool of brown curls, in a short white coat, avoiding his reflection. He is a holder of secrets. His warm fingers hold the small of your neck as he shears and snips and oils. He takes hair home. He finds it everywhere. In his clothes. Teacup. Bedsheets. Curls cling to his shoes like fraying question marks.
My thick dark curls fell gracefully to the ground as the barber snipped away delicately. We made small chit-chat about the weather and the latest breaking news. She chewed her bubble gum loudly and used her hands as she talked. A bell rang lightly signaling a new customer had arrived to get a trim.
I watched my hair fall onto the dirty floor in little pieces. She was blabbing away about a band I would never like and I felt alone again. I didn’t want to end up like my hair.
Barber cuts hair. I cut my own hair quite often, because I get bored and impatient. I tend to use cutting my hair as an outlet for stress that is going on in my life. If my hair is drastically different, stay away!! I really need to stop doing this. I even permed my own hair….bad mistake. I need to find contentment in things other than scissors.
The blades they get closer to my skin, inches of hair fall to the ground. I tell the barber the latest gossip. He is like a friend but more so my therapist. He can also tell you all my secretes and hardships.
there was this tiny barber shop opposite the cafe in west village, New York New York. Mason left me in the cafe, more like a tea house, while he went across the road to see if they could fit him in. I had a coconut black tea and scone which I accidentally broke into a dozen pieces
The barber ran his fingers through his hair.. assessing the damage.
“looks like were going to have to remove it all” he said with a grin on his face.
The buzzer turned on.
noo!
that’s what i get for dying my hair blonde with bleach
No sé para que sirve esta profesión. Como que la gente no puede convivir con los pelos y cortarselo con la tijera cuando es demasiado largo. No, se lo tienen que rascar con un cuchillo, y me parece muy bien que esto traiga el riesgo de lastimarse la piel.
There once was a barber in Seville, who shaved all the people’s heads. Men, women, children, monkeys, cats – no-one was safe from the barber. Then, one day, he discovered a small boy with no hair and he rightly concluded that he had shaved his head. If you were hoping for some kind of paradox, ha ha to you.
Ever notice how much you love something when it’s gone? That aching throb of hidden grief when you realize it has become virtually irretrievable?
But, I don’t believe in permanent loss, there’s always the memory – unless of course you’re balding. Although I do believe technology will prevail in the endeavor of even undoing that. Why is that you ask? Because I’m a barber. I’ve seen all manner of contraptions come and go. And the hair styles?!?! My word, Son, I don’t even have time to go there.
Barber has the name Barb in it. I had a swim instructor named Barb. She told me she would eat my sister. She was a college prfesser. She had a shirt that said “Dr. Barb…I earned it.”
Barber-surgeons, they were originally called. The first medieval guild of men who cut hair and stitched up limbs. Barbaric tools, they had, and grim, toothless grins, but sometimes they got lucky and saved lives. The sleek, white-coated doctors of today would never recognize their original counterparts, and they think themselves superior, but few of them know the mysteries the barbers held then, of the light that glows in a man’s heart the instant before he expires.
He was like an Edward Scissorhands with the pruning shears. He would go out into the yard and take more control. He would shape and mold and form his garden like a barber. And he would do it all in spite of her leaving.
I was hoping it would be you. The crop you did last time was just right. I went to sign up straight away but they woudn’t let me. Eyesight. Very poor. My brother signed up last year and was clipped by a sniper in Baghdad. He’s OK but he speaks very slowly now.
The barber, a stout man with a mean attitude, took his first client of the day. A sigh, a shave and the man was on his way. The barber had a bad day so he decided to slit his wrist instead of close up shop… poor barber.
Recently I’ve been playing Frontierville – and built a barber shop — made me think about how the barber shop used to be the FaceBook of the frontier — the men probably shared alot about their lives while waiting under hot towels for a shave …
sweeney todd oooo the demon barber of fleet street. bald man whith a pair of old-school rusty scissors, wearing something similar to an apron around his waist. hair. a lot of hair being taken off. cheesy duke box music.
I haven’t been to a barber in ages! There was a time during which I would get quick trims done at expensive salons, but I’ve since shaved my head, and don’t think I’ll be paying for haircuts ever again. Yep.
I went to the barber once. I like the smell of the shop. I think it was a mix of shave cream and hair balm. I loved the shiny scissors and the way they reflected the light as he cut my dad’s hair. The sun streaming through the windows made odd shadows on the floor beneath my feet. I was wearing flip flops that day. I was 9. Mama told me to wear real shoes as it was only March and it was too cold for such joyous things as flip flops but I had worn them anyway.
A barber is someone who cuts your hair. For rude prices. Most people don’t go to barbers and do it themselves anyway, for much cheaper prices, unless your getting an intricate haircut or highlights that you can’t do by yourself. I only go to the barber if I’m getting my hair cut short, and don’t trust my parents with it. Barbers come near your neck with scissors and that’s kind of scary. And just the word Barber is very weird.
well the barber i go to is basically a stylist and she is pretty good. atleast that’s what I think. She cut my hair twice now, and I think I am pretty satisfied with what she has done to my hair. I’ve had bad experiences with barbers so this is a good change for me.
That’s pretty much all ive got to say.
Barber. Who calls their hair stylist person a barber. Well unless your older i guess but its just a very weird word:) Like say it a few times it’s very very funny:)
the barber was a kind man. he always ensured only the closest of shaves and the finest swoops to the curls of his client’s follicular appendages. it was one day that he found a quarter lodged below a thick not of rastafari hair and he spent it on an entire gumball that he chewed thoughtfully while finishing his job with the nice Jamaican man.
A barber was in phoenix, AZ where i used to live and he was a really good barber, Because he cut my hair like i wanted him to buzz it. I never got warm or over-heated.
I would never pay for a barber. Too bald. Not worth the money. My friends can give me the same buzzcut for less. Maybe they’ll have boobs, my friends. Maybe they’ll rub them on my bald buddha head. Seems much better. No need for a barber.
Blah blah barber blah I have too much time to write all this barber bugger blather.
Byeeee.
Every few weeks he goes to the barber shop on 4th and Elm St. It’s always the same guy working. They bullshit for an hour or so and then he leaves. It’s the only time he goes out nowadays. He’s usually locked in his house, smoking his Pall Mall’s and watching the news.
He stands in a pool of brown curls, in a short white coat, avoiding his reflection. He is a holder of secrets. His warm fingers hold the small of your neck as he shears and snips and oils. He takes hair home. He finds it everywhere. In his clothes. Teacup. Bedsheets. Curls cling to his shoes like fraying question marks.
My thick dark curls fell gracefully to the ground as the barber snipped away delicately. We made small chit-chat about the weather and the latest breaking news. She chewed her bubble gum loudly and used her hands as she talked. A bell rang lightly signaling a new customer had arrived to get a trim.
This one time I went in to see a barber and asked for a little off the top…so he cut my scalp off
the barber cuts hair for men or women
barbers have their special way of taking care of their customers
shaving, warm wraps, scents when done
I watched my hair fall onto the dirty floor in little pieces. She was blabbing away about a band I would never like and I felt alone again. I didn’t want to end up like my hair.
gentleman, refined, vintage, oils, potions, tonics, social, shooting the breeze, talking about the weather.
Barber cuts hair. I cut my own hair quite often, because I get bored and impatient. I tend to use cutting my hair as an outlet for stress that is going on in my life. If my hair is drastically different, stay away!! I really need to stop doing this. I even permed my own hair….bad mistake. I need to find contentment in things other than scissors.
The blades they get closer to my skin, inches of hair fall to the ground. I tell the barber the latest gossip. He is like a friend but more so my therapist. He can also tell you all my secretes and hardships.
there was this tiny barber shop opposite the cafe in west village, New York New York. Mason left me in the cafe, more like a tea house, while he went across the road to see if they could fit him in. I had a coconut black tea and scone which I accidentally broke into a dozen pieces
The barber ran his fingers through his hair.. assessing the damage.
“looks like were going to have to remove it all” he said with a grin on his face.
The buzzer turned on.
noo!
that’s what i get for dying my hair blonde with bleach
No sé para que sirve esta profesión. Como que la gente no puede convivir con los pelos y cortarselo con la tijera cuando es demasiado largo. No, se lo tienen que rascar con un cuchillo, y me parece muy bien que esto traiga el riesgo de lastimarse la piel.
There once was a barber in Seville, who shaved all the people’s heads. Men, women, children, monkeys, cats – no-one was safe from the barber. Then, one day, he discovered a small boy with no hair and he rightly concluded that he had shaved his head. If you were hoping for some kind of paradox, ha ha to you.
Ever notice how much you love something when it’s gone? That aching throb of hidden grief when you realize it has become virtually irretrievable?
But, I don’t believe in permanent loss, there’s always the memory – unless of course you’re balding. Although I do believe technology will prevail in the endeavor of even undoing that. Why is that you ask? Because I’m a barber. I’ve seen all manner of contraptions come and go. And the hair styles?!?! My word, Son, I don’t even have time to go there.
Barber has the name Barb in it. I had a swim instructor named Barb. She told me she would eat my sister. She was a college prfesser. She had a shirt that said “Dr. Barb…I earned it.”
Makes me think about the old candy cane looking fixture that barbers used to have outside their barbershop.
Barber-surgeons, they were originally called. The first medieval guild of men who cut hair and stitched up limbs. Barbaric tools, they had, and grim, toothless grins, but sometimes they got lucky and saved lives. The sleek, white-coated doctors of today would never recognize their original counterparts, and they think themselves superior, but few of them know the mysteries the barbers held then, of the light that glows in a man’s heart the instant before he expires.
He was like an Edward Scissorhands with the pruning shears. He would go out into the yard and take more control. He would shape and mold and form his garden like a barber. And he would do it all in spite of her leaving.
I was hoping it would be you. The crop you did last time was just right. I went to sign up straight away but they woudn’t let me. Eyesight. Very poor. My brother signed up last year and was clipped by a sniper in Baghdad. He’s OK but he speaks very slowly now.
I dont care about barbers, i just needed an _outlet_ to vent my frustration. I can’t believe how depressing today was. aaand writer’s block.
there once was a barber named john
who loved to play cards
all he ever needed was one
and then he died and was done
I see an old person cutting old peoples hair. They have their own little shop mixed in with all the bigger shops but they still get great business.
The barber cut deep into my face. Shaving shreds of me off. Less outgoing less of a temper, a little more off the top I say.
The barber, a stout man with a mean attitude, took his first client of the day. A sigh, a shave and the man was on his way. The barber had a bad day so he decided to slit his wrist instead of close up shop… poor barber.
she was scared. it was thew first time that she had been to the barber shop. it was fun! and after her cut she got a lollipop!
Recently I’ve been playing Frontierville – and built a barber shop — made me think about how the barber shop used to be the FaceBook of the frontier — the men probably shared alot about their lives while waiting under hot towels for a shave …
snip. curly bits on the floor. he sweeps them up into a cardboard box. later he will weave them into a scarf for his dog.
sweeney todd oooo the demon barber of fleet street. bald man whith a pair of old-school rusty scissors, wearing something similar to an apron around his waist. hair. a lot of hair being taken off. cheesy duke box music.
Blue Barnaby walked reluctantly toward the barber’s shop. He knew that once he sat down in the chair, the interrogation would begin.
A barber. Hmm. How am I to be creative with this?
seems I’m a bit off today. I haven’t the foggiest as to what to write.
A barber shop is where you go to cut your hair. A barber is where a guy cuts his hair.
I haven’t been to a barber in ages! There was a time during which I would get quick trims done at expensive salons, but I’ve since shaved my head, and don’t think I’ll be paying for haircuts ever again. Yep.
I went to the barber once. I like the smell of the shop. I think it was a mix of shave cream and hair balm. I loved the shiny scissors and the way they reflected the light as he cut my dad’s hair. The sun streaming through the windows made odd shadows on the floor beneath my feet. I was wearing flip flops that day. I was 9. Mama told me to wear real shoes as it was only March and it was too cold for such joyous things as flip flops but I had worn them anyway.
A barber is someone who cuts your hair. For rude prices. Most people don’t go to barbers and do it themselves anyway, for much cheaper prices, unless your getting an intricate haircut or highlights that you can’t do by yourself. I only go to the barber if I’m getting my hair cut short, and don’t trust my parents with it. Barbers come near your neck with scissors and that’s kind of scary. And just the word Barber is very weird.
well the barber i go to is basically a stylist and she is pretty good. atleast that’s what I think. She cut my hair twice now, and I think I am pretty satisfied with what she has done to my hair. I’ve had bad experiences with barbers so this is a good change for me.
That’s pretty much all ive got to say.
Barber. Who calls their hair stylist person a barber. Well unless your older i guess but its just a very weird word:) Like say it a few times it’s very very funny:)
the barber was a kind man. he always ensured only the closest of shaves and the finest swoops to the curls of his client’s follicular appendages. it was one day that he found a quarter lodged below a thick not of rastafari hair and he spent it on an entire gumball that he chewed thoughtfully while finishing his job with the nice Jamaican man.
A barber was in phoenix, AZ where i used to live and he was a really good barber, Because he cut my hair like i wanted him to buzz it. I never got warm or over-heated.
A barber is somebody who cuts your hair. and their shops have spinning spiral thing outside.