My favorite barber story, continued from this post.
Stopping into the barbershop in the Foshay Tower one day a few years back, I discovered that my regular barber (a short, twitchy guy who loved to talk about fishing and replacing the windows on his house) was out, and in his place was an old and frankly quite stinky barber who talked in great detail about his upcoming wintertime RV trip to Arizona. After a few minutes, though, he got tired of talking to me and asked if I wanted something to read. "Sure," I said. These were famous last words, because he immediately dropped a copy of Playboy into my lap. I laughed uncomfortably and joked, "You must have this in the shop for the articles, right?" Famous laster words, because he replied definitively, "No, I have it here because I like looking at the poon."