Act two. I strolled home after breakfast at the dinerant. I missed getting a haircut Saturday because I didn't spot a barber shop open on Genesee Street. On the sidewalk at Genesee and Seminary Street, I spotted a lean-to sign that read, "Cutathon" for Logan, Noon until Four. I stepped inside, paid ten dollars. A woman sitting on her barber stool smiled and waved me over. "I thought about shaving it all off", I said to her. "Why take your hair into your own hands. I can blend in the sides with the top perfectly for you. Cowlicks, unusually curly hair, I have seen it all". She went to work. It looked trim and professional when she finished, holding up a mirror so I could see for myself. "May I tip you"? "Yes, I'll just give it to Logan. He's fighting cancer". "Thank you for volunteering to help Logan", and I set two crisp dollars on their side by her razor. All ten chairs were full with men and women getting a Sunday cut. I looked in a mirror by the door before stepping out into the cold. After every haircut, I see more grey appearing in my hair.
