To a hipster barbershop where, while trying to ignore on-the-nose jukebox classics, I’m given what is probably the best haircut I’ve ever had.
It’s incredible. They’ve made me look like a young Humphrey Bogart. I walked home along the backs of the swooned.
“Good news” you might say, but, as I look in the mirror, I understand with a sudden jolt that every time I’ve been on stage, every time I’ve been photographed for an interview or a book jacket, every time I’ve dressed up for a wedding or an important meeting, every time I’ve tried to look nonchalant while signing a proffered Loose Egg, and even that time I auditioned for Mastermind, I’ve looked like a shit-haired twat.