There's a little barber shop on the other side of the street when I'm on my way home.

I've been meaning to stop by and take a closer look for a long time. It's the sort of place that makes me feel like time has stopped for a moment and a man in the classic barber's shirt would still be found with a long razor shaving a man's beard properly. I'll probably stop by for a cut one day perhaps just because I like the look of it. I was inordinately infuriated when some tagger sprayed the window a few months back. I'm ok now... @#@#$@!!@!#!!!! Ok, maybe not. It's still there too, sadly. (I have this secret tragic belief that the owner is a big hearted man in his 50s that is just ekeing out an existance and getting his windows replaced is beyond his means)

Last night I decided that it was time to have a good look at this place which was never open when I walk past but, in my mind, had a constant stream of imaginary dramas taking place inside: man coming in to the local barber to get a "usual" while he talked about "the wife and kids" and in hushed tones talk about how things were going at home and so on! ... yes, I'm an oversentimental flake...

I don't know if I managed to capture the feeling of the place right - kind of like this cozy sanctuary where people knew who you were when you walked in... in this case, without anyone in it, sterile, but imbued with stories and history. I guess I'll have to come back to this image in a few days when I've disconnected from it.