A barberhood of brothers

I make it a point to visit barber shops in the countries I visit. Not salons or those new fangled 10 minute cuts, but proper barber shops. Those with barber poles spinning outside, those where the unswept floor is littered with dead or dying protein masses, those where they still have the confidence and the skill to use a proper blade to shave you with. All over the world, such places feel exactly alike. A brotherhood of barbers, perhaps?

Barber shop.


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