this morning #2245.

this morning, that damn barber is out there on his porch again. thankfully, he’s not wielding his shears this time. he’s still pacing back & forth though. moving between mouthing unknown words & mumbling to himself. i wish he’d just go back inside his house & work out whatever’s on his mind behind closed doors. it’s scary having to watch his daily decline play out most mornings on his front porch like it’s some sort of deranged suburban stage. i assume that one day soon, i’ll likely have to call the cops. i sincerely hope that’s not what happens but it’s hard to imagine this turning out any other way. it’s a shame. he used to cut my hair back in the day. did a good job. that was before his life went into decline though. now i wouldn’t let his cursed hands anywhere near my head.