What else should I be thinking of while in the barber's chair? Scissors grazing my ears as he tidies up my sideburns. Trimming up the curly whiskers on the cheeks. Splashing rubbing alcohol on my face to tighten things up. I could tell he wanted to "accidentally" poke me in the face with the blade tip. Just to allieviate the barber boredom.

Barbers were once bloodletters as well as coiffeurs ya know. That's the reason a red stripe spins on the circuling white pole. Exposing veins to release the infirmities. The demons, they live in the blood no? They also used to pull rotten teeth out of people's heads. Fucking sadists barbers are.

There was a chickie pie sitting with her ruffneck boy waiting for his chop. Seemed like a demure Puerto Rican princess hoodrat. While I lost an inch or two off my strands my glasses were off, so she was not much more than an amorphous fuzzball reflecting in the mirror wall. Once Vlad the Impaler was done with the snipping I put the specs back on. I noticed she was very intently watching my hair being combed and blowdried.

Could just be my particular taint of paranoia. Regardless, I often catch the brown ladies uneasily inspecting my doo. Knowing the stink of Western beauty parameters, having even slighty kinky hair is thought of as inferior. Mindreading these women's thought bubbles. "That fucking white boy has better fucking hair than me, ain't no justice in this cracker ruled world".

Which is just ridiculous. Yeah it's soft and has reddish blonde highlights. It's also making a retreat from my forehead. I think my eyebrows threatened them to start packing it in, it's their territory now. Scalp gentrification. The poor hair inhabitants getting edged out by the yuppie skin condos, so they can have an unobstructed view of the sky.

Speaking of the sky view. My hair might as well be transparent as far as the despicable daymaker is concerned. Sinister fucker's solar rays blast UV right through my cranium. You darker divas should thank your genes for giving you extremely more efficient sun blocking toppers. I get melanoma sitting outside at midnight without a hat.

I'm just this side of the pigment fence. On the skin charts distributed by Dermatone, hanging in doctor's offices, my face is right next to the albino.

I'd welcome an approaching ice age. Plenty of cavedweller swimming around in my chromosome soup. Hey, that would make an even better song title, screaming into the mic with blood drying on my face. "I'm A Fucking Caveman". Rock.