THU 1 MAR 2012 1:00 pm ETERNAL SALON
Not a busy place. Japanese being spoken by the bearded young guy at the reception desk. The woman customer is gone, and now he clinks pens in a glass jar, seeking the right one to write with.
Some hip-hop number throbs tinnily and faintly on the sound system: robotic synthesized vocals. Outside on 3rd St. are gruff traffic noises. A car door slams.
Now the Japanese guy sweeps the floor with a push-broom, picking up the hair with a long-handled dustpan so he does not need to stoop.
I hear the soft cheerful voice of Kathy, my hair cutter, breathily greeting the other people as she comes in. Time to get cut.