My Havana Haircut
I was walking the back streets of Havana with my friend Roger, just wandering, seeing where the day would take us, as I often do in Cuba. On a quiet side street, we passed a young man standing out in front of his house next to a humble assortment of hair cutting tools assembled on a tiny table leaning against the wall.
He had a fresh haircut, the lines were impeccable. We knew he was a great barber. So we stopped and each got a cut on the sidewalk under a tree, while the old ladies chatted in the doorway across the street and a stray dog lingered. I'll never forget it. To this day the best haircut I've ever gotten. It cost $1.