I've always been fascinated by this particular alleyway in Columbia. The entrance to it, with the clapboard-style barbershop flanking the right hand side, is beckoning. Especially at night, when the interior of the barber shop glows reassuringly, and a couple meager street lights illuminate select patches of brick and pavement far down the yawning alleway. My great grandfather was a barber in the small Missouri town of Latham, down near California. Somewhere at home my dad still has the set of whet stones that he used to keep sharp the tools of his trade.
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