We Don't Do Shaves
Carl McManus loves that mug. I could tell from his voice, which hushed when he told me, “This one’s very precious.” The mug is the color of an ivory piano key, with a groove for a barber’s thumb where the handle meets the lip. Marked with a golden number five, its surface has cracked into spider webs like old china. It lies among tools: paper neck strips, a folded-up “hair cloth,” scissors, comb, spray bottle, several electric clippers, a pink-bristled brush for dusting off the hair, an antique shaker filled with Pinaud Clubman Talc, a straight razor with disposable blade, a bottle of...
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