The son passes by on his bicycle heading for school. He is wearing a white cyclists helmet and his long red hair swirls out from underneath the white plastic over his shoulders. He is in a hurry, speeding along on the cobbles.
There is the c arm get in m and clip the telephone to the magnetic clip. It is showing a small map, illustrating the way to the hairdressers, the barbers.
Go up the stairs, the gong sounds as the door opens. There are two hairdrdssers working there, at the barbers chairs on the left. The one has a balding man it it, the other an elderly woman getting her hair set in curlers. The woman who usually cut the hair is sick in bed today so another one offers to do the work, everything is in order. Sit down and wait, read an article about progress in atomic reactor construction in a popular science magazine.
Later, sitting in the chair, listen to the barber talking about Greta Thunberg, she does not like her. Remain silent, field the questions, all the time aware that those incredibly sharp scissors are only millimetres away from eyes and ears.
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