Walking down a narrow side street in Lyon, on my way for a morning coffee, I (em) caught a glimpse in my peripheral vision of what appeared to be a small salon de coiffure hommes, which basically means barber shop.

Committed to living on the dazzling edge of intuition and spontaneity, I instinctively veered to the right, and found myself standing in the doorway, face to face with Henri B. I didn’t really need a haircut, but the spirit moved me, so there we stood, in close proximity. He was a pleasant man with a gentle demeanor, but spoke no English whatsoever, nor did he want to try. Mostly, we agreed to talk intermittently without any overriding need to understand each other. (more…)

Lino finally went into pensione, retirement. He was the only barbiere, barber in the little hilltop town of Fiesole for over 50 years. That’s a lot of clipping, snipping and barber talk in the mirror. He gave the best haircut ever. After his heart attack, he rallied and made a comeback for another 2 years. But eventually, he just couldn’t do it anymore, as he was creeping up on 80 years old. It was his life. (more…)