haircut + art
While we were on our roadtrip and in Lyon, I accidentally forgot my toiletry bag in the hotel. It took almost two weeks for me to get it, so that made it about two months since my last haircut and three weeks since my last shave (since my clippers were in the bag).
When the bag arrived, I went to go get my haircut first. The area where the apartment is is on the edge of a hipster area, an Afrikan area, a Muslim area and an Asian area. And each of these areas there is a major presence. So I wandered into the Muslim neighborhood to get my hairs chopped, picked a spot and wandered in. I don’t speak French and he didn’t speak English, but let’s face it: 90% of guys cuts are the same. At least that you get in a barbershop. So I made the international sign for scissor cutting, he nodded, and we were off. 10 minutes later I had a sharp haircut. It was time to pay him, but I don’t even know numbers past “trois,” but he was either saying five euros, stop, or high-five. I showed him money, he held up five digits still and I gave him eight.
Being in such a densely populated Muslim area is odd. It’s not like being in West Philadelphia. But the lack of fear may of come from just not being in Philly and have nothing to do with the Muslim factor.
Since I had time to kill, I decided to wander in a different direction than usual and I am glad I did. Saw some really interesting stuff and hoods I want to explore, and I stumbled across some really great street art.
Then I went home to shave my facial hair completely off. Something that had not been seen by the world post-puberty. I blossomed late, so once I was able to grow facial hair I wanted to show the world. And then it just became a part of me and stayed that way for 15 years. So with a fresh cut I thought I would rock the facial baldy. I didn’t like it, and the world will never see those pics, but I did have fun with it first.