You walk in to awkward stares reading you, measuring you up to the standards of a man.
Sit back and let the melodies and the harmonies of this orchestra take your mind off of the stress outside of those doors.
Hear the Chittin’ and the Chattin’, the rumors and hand clappin’, just an old back slappin’ good time.
Read the faces of the onlookers and build the courage to stand up and take your place upon the throne to be…pampered, looked at, talked to and made to look your best…all, of course, at your request.
Crescendo to the lovely melody as you close your eyes and drift away, from stress from pencil pushin’ from shower sharing from fly clothes wearing to peace until the melody falls flat and you feel Samson’s good luck charm fall from its home to your ears, from your ear to the floor.
Damn.
He should feel like a whore being paid for the services that all men adore, all men implore.
Back to that hand slappin’ and chit chattin’ world.
Thrust from your throne and shown to the door.
Still, you walk with a new type of swagger look at yourself in the windows of cars right now Michael Jackson couldn’t be badder…back to the room to the mirror making sure every lock is perfectly chopped.
Just that weekly trip down the street and to the barbershop
