DUCK’S ASS
We arrived at the barbershop half an hour later. Chips’ truck was parked in front of the shop beside Rooster’s Harley. Her short visits had become extended weekends as Spring progressed. Lemonhead, clutching his bag to his chest, with his cap pulled tightly down on his head, managed to pull himself out of the back of Brent’s car. I had the urge to immediately take a shower, but I had to see how Fish and Lemon would greet each other. After all, Lemon had been Fish’s most frequent visitor from up North; he seemed to be his best friend.
Brad and I walked into the shop. Brent went for the mead. I sat down in a bent metal chair. Rooster was in a barber chair, drinking beer from a Styrofoam cup, quite at home. Fish was in the midst of shaping Chips’ perfect duck’s ass, and in walked Lemon.
“Oh, shit!” Fish blurted out. “I cut it off.”
Lemon said, “I’d like to take a shower.”
“The key is in the usual place,” Fish said.
Chips glared at Fish. “You didn’t.”
“I’ll give you a square back.”
Lemon turned and walked out the door.
Brad took a big gulp of mead and nearly choked. “This tastes like vinegar!”
“It is vinegar. I’m cleaning it.” Fish said.
Chips screamed, “What did you do to my hair?”
Fish’s eyes got real big and he looked as innocent as ET. “It’s not my fault.” He pointed at the closing door.
Rooster hesitatingly took a sip of beer and found it was still okay. Fish had finally gotten Chips to change her hair style, and she was none the wiser. He lovingly cut it very short and sculpted her head to bring out his favorite features, as only a master barber can do.