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There was a time when all barbers were called “Luigi”, even when christened “Frank”. It accompanied the immaculate college-cut, turning short, plumpish Italian romeos into dapper womanisers with the feintest of grey and the largest of egos.
One such, Frank by name and by nature, ran a salon on the railway end of St John’s Avenue for over a quarter of a century, eventually attracting the manicured business type in a fine pin-stripe with the hint of pink in a button-down Gloweave, as well as the lad in his blue singlet and concrete-spattered ankle-protectors.
No sooner was the chair pumped and the paper whipped around the neck, than Frank was working his scissors in time to his larynx, the black fine-toothed comb flicking up the wayward ends, tumbling wisps of hair to ignominy on the floor below.
Frank, of course, was a font of wisdom on the machinations at Inter.
6 comments:
What's Inter?
Wanna see my Frank?
http://freefallingskyward.blogspot.com/2007/05/lookn-sharp.html
Yeh what is an Inter???
You have such a wealth of detail in your head that you draw on.
I've seen Frank alias Luigi skipping around his charge, scissors held aloft and chattering in his accented lilt. But I don't understand what he's talking about.
I can so see, hear and smell this scene, Julie.
I meant to say in my earlier comment that “tell” does have it place. To show everything would be tedious. This has a lovely balance.
I try not to explain, but thought it might help to know that "Inter" is what the Milano football (soccer) team is known as by afficionasos.
Also, I am very late with today's post as I have been gadding with both my brothers since Sunday. One lives in Newcastle and the other in Wauchope. I tend to see them twice a year.
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