Later, when Joe Apis met his wife and children at the park, he would watch an early-waking bee search for pollen on his son's blue jacket sleeve, and it would remind him of the fuzzy buds outside the barber shop. He thought they looked like violet willow leaves wrapped up tight. The stems trembled in the unseasonably warm February air, and the minute tips glowed in the sun. But now, as he sat in the swivel-chair, he looked at the floor where the tiles had been worn away to cement, and just beyond, where the metal curb's geometrical design had been rubbed away. He was pushed around to face the back wall. He liked the black and white picture that hung there, the one of another barber shop showing men waiting for their shaves. The clipper buzzed in his ear, and conversation floated back and forth over his head. A child played a videogame in the seat to his right; the themed music started and restarted. The television behind him was on, he knew, but with no sound -- the peop...
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