Folks, I just got my haircut at the nearest barbershop last Sunday evening. It was the same guy who cut my hair before, the man of the family who rents the shop which is their shelter as well. His kids always the dad's best medium for ads, "cute haircut for kids, lick this!"

It didnt take a while for my turn to sit on the old steel chair, I can feel its oldness by the armrest, the puffies are gone, I smelled the previous customers' bad odor, sat straight up, followed the rhytm of the shavers.

The best part I love the most is the shaving time around the face and neck, I closed my eyes, savoring the very few minutes of the taste of the soap and the knife [was it knife, by the way?]

Make it short, I said, he knew it, nodded, kept on watching out his kids, small kids, like uncontrollable toy cars with full batteries, ready to be hit hard by the rushing cars and screaming three-wheelers, and motors.

Later on, I headed to my ex-landlady's, picked a Deutschland Magz and my TAXcard from my hometown. The magz's plastic has been torn by someone, whatever, it aint porn or something.