Noticing that my loud, drunk friend had gone uncharacteristically silent while cutting my hair, after I’d been talked into a rattail at his insistence. My eyes focusing on a bedroom dresser mirror one room across from the kitchen table where I sat, as it slowly dawned on me that his mute status was due to a violent laughing fit that had bent him over against the wall, gasping for air, as he surveyed his handiwork. He had unilaterally decided my hair wasn’t quite long enough for a satisfying rattail, so he had elected to shave upward toward the tops of my ears on either side of my scalp. Giving
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