Greek Barber

In the early hours of the afternoon I set out to greet the day in a whimsical mood enhanced by deliberate notions of soon to be paid for pleasures. A wicked haircut from my Greek Barber Island Jim across the street from my two bedroom pad which floated on the outskirts of Outremont on the loudest busiest street I’ve ever heard in my nightly wanderings, Park avenue in Montre. above a sushi shop and a laundromat it was. I loved eating BBQ chicken after work on a bus stop bench across the street. Area subject in this stream a bit. So there I was upstairs in my apartment walking about in the buff and to the detriment of my confiture on toast I decided to take a peek out the winda. Now, taking a peekaboo in the nude is fine if as a man your nether regions are not subject to possible glances of unremitting glee, and such was not the case in this hour of hilarity. I approached the glass with a shake of my ass pulled over the elastic shade stuck my Caponed mug out and took a look. Holy jellybean! the bottom of the shade flipped loose and lo and be told my dude downstairs was bare knuckle boxing with, in my mind, The New Yok Times. “Dammn it!” I mumbled. So, I slowly and apprehensively looked out again and to my embarrassment there was a ton of folk on the other side of the street cracking up and dancing about at the bus stop. I was Infuriated!!!!!!! but then I cracked up too so what the hell, people were laughing. I did not go to the Greek barber that day.

🙂

Nico