Slim Randles' Home Country
A haircut, a razor cut, a work of art
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[October 18, 2008]
By the time we saw Dud, the damage had been done, of
It was Steve who spoke first.
"I don't believe it," the tall cowboy said.
There, on Dud's head,
was a sculpture of such blasphemous proportions as would silence all
of us in attendance at the Mule Barn truck stop's philosophy counter
and world dilemma think tank. It was beautiful, of course, but it
was also tragic.
"They call it feathered," said Dud, turning red. "A razor cut."
We just stared at the haircut without saying anything. It curved
gracefully around his ears; it waved softly in sculptured layers
over the top of his head. It fell in gradually decreasing
thicknesses down the long back slope of his head toward its tapered
termination at the neck.
"It was Anita's idea," Dud said. "She gave me the money for it
Finally, Doc spoke. "What's Kelly going to say?"
"That's the worst of it, all right," Dud said. "I know he's going
to be hurt."
[to top of second
Kelly hadn't really worried too much about the future of his
barbershop when Fantasy Fantails set up shop. He assumed it was a
haircutting place for women who didn't want to take the time to go
to the beauty parlor, and for guys who came to live in our small
town from the city.
Kelly's had always been the stronghold of local manhood here. You
wouldn't find a single advertisement showing a guy wearing a sweater
tied around his neck. Not at Kelly's. In the past, when magazines
were magazines, you could read how some guy captured gestapo
headquarters with his headhunter brides.
"Well," said Doc, shrugging. "That haircut of yours is a work of
art, without a doubt. But there's at least one good thing about
getting a really expensive haircut, Dud. Sooner or later, it'll grow
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
Brought to you by "Sun Dog Days," available from University of
New Mexico Press at