Poor George

“Sir,”

“Sir. “ 

“Sir... you....”

“...you can’t smoke in here.”

It only took one glance from Tony behind his lit cigarette for George to realize-- not only could Tony smoke in there, but he would smoke in there. 

There was a blonde woman sitting across from Tony with a culture magazine on her lap. She was chewing on a massive wad of bubblegum. Her name was Deanna. One of Deanna's sons was crawling along the floor between people's chair legs and climbing up the backs of the leather sofas. 

“Stop it, would you stop it! Do you know how filthy that floor is?! Oh, just wait till I tell your father... “

“Ah! Screw this!" 

Deanna snapped. 

 "If he’s smoking, by-God so am I... I’m sorry, George” 

Said Deanna, as she lit a cigarette between her cherry red lips. 

Deanna tilted back on the sofa and sank as far as she could away from her two demanding sons, away from the others waiting anxiously for their appointments, away from the frantic street outside and all the crooked, borderline insane, drugged up people who made up its inhabitants. Deanna was badly in need of her 5:30 fix up— vodka cranberry with club soda. 

Meanwhile her older son, Jerry, sat fidgeting in the barber chair. Deanna puffed her cigarette and pretended not to notice the torment he was inflicting on poor George. George always bared the brunt of Deanna’s two insufferable boys. 

There was no air conditioning inside the cramped little barber shop. The humid summer air caused all the waiting customers to stick to the couches. For an already impatient crowd of the usual clientele, this only made matters worse. 

“Fuck the system! Fuck the police!” 

Went the sudden, spastic shouts of a passerby just outside the storefront. 

A car streaked by, its tires squealing as it burning against the pavement. Only a moment later, the driver had to slam on the breaks behind a bus that had stopped for an old lady. She was moving considerably slowly to board the bus with her walker. Rush hour in that little anal of the city was never pleasant.

The now halted speeding driver pounded on his horn. “Move your fucking ass!” He shouted. 

...

A man beside Tony coughed as he inhaled the breeze of Tony’s second-hand smoke. Tony shot him a look and the man tried to hold his gaze. 

“You got a fucking problem, you fucking mook?”

Tony snapped. 

The man looked down meekly. 

“That’s what I thought. You and your pathetic ass combover.”

Said Tony. 

On the news, a live update flashed of a traffic accident just a couple streets away. 

“Aw fuck!” Shouted Tony. 

“I’m gonna be late for dinner. Hey buddy! Is that as fast as you can go? Man if this lady could just control her damn kids. Geeez!”

Deanna shot Tony a look but then thought better about it and looked down as she finished off her cigarette. Even her two sons settled down in fear of being the target of one of the hulking man's outbursts. 

Another lady walked in with her son. She wore a long floral sundress and designer sandals. It was clear she had never been there, nor was she from the same neighbourhood—they were dressed too nicely. The lady had pale white skin, green eyes and long red curls. The boy had thick rimmed glasses which were also designer brand, and his hair, also red, was parted and neatly combed. The red headed boy was licking an ice cream cone while Deanna's sons looked on with envy stirring their souls. 

“Excuse me Sir... “ said the red headed lady. Her voice was genteel and pronounced. George finished off the second of Deanna's two boys while the combover man assumed his seat In the barber chair. 

“How much do you charge for children’s cuts?” 

“Don’t even bother, lady...” 

Tony interrupted with a snorted. 

“By the time he is done with you your hair will have grown back. This guy is a hack and this place is no good. And you look too good to be a place like this in the first place. “

“Hey kid... “

He said looking at the red headed boy

“Where’s daddy—He still, around?” 

George’s eyes beamed, he was too taken aback to speak. 

The redheaded lady’s mouth was agape with horror as she clutched her boy by the head and whisked him out of the shop, so quickly that his ice cream fell flat on the rug right by the front door. The other two boys looked at it with expressions of mourning. 

A flash went through George’s mind. A blinding white light. Suddenly, his head throbbed as he struggled to hear the combover wearing patron sitting in the chair giving him the same tediously specific instructions as every other time he went in.

Exploding shells went off inside George’s skull— so loud that even as the combover patron complained that George was “going too short”, and while Tony barked for him for being “the slowest, most retarded hairdresser in the city”, George couldn’t hear any of it. 

Finally, the combover man leaned his head back over a washbasin while George finished off the job with a hot towel shave. It was a wonder how George didn’t even slightly knick the man with his razor, despite combover man’s blubbery red face jiggling, while he was making a diatribe against George and his ‘incompetent craftsmanship'. The combover man was still grumbling on his way out the door. 

As he left from the shop, Tony stood up clapping. 

“Bravo, you fuckwit!” 

“Maybe some day you’ll actually graduate barber college” 

He went on.

“Don’t beat yourself up that that guy still left one ugly son of a bitch, either. God himself couldn’t fix the mug on that fat bastard.” 

George stared blankly ahead. His eyes were wide and out of focus. His hands trembled for a moment as Tony stood up and proceeded towards the chair, but too imperceptibly for him to notice. 

“So listen...” Said Tony while climbing into the seat. 

“I know you’ll fuck it up, but I’ll tell you anyway...” 

He continued. 

“Just a little off the top and...” 

Tony stopped for a moment, looking confused at George who seemed to not even be hearing a word he was saying. 

“Hey...” 

Said Tony. 

“Are you even listening, numb-nuts?”

George motioned towards the door. 

“Hey. Where the fuck are you goi—“

Tony was silenced by the sound of the iron bolt closing, locking the front door. 

At that moment George turned around to face him. 

George had never seen any humanity on Tony’s face until that moment, as the glare from the straight razor in George's hand reflected into his eyes. Finally, it seemed there was a trace, an inkling behind Tony's eyes that proved he wasn't a complete monster.

But, by then, it was already too late...