A Haircut on a Friday Night

It’s eight o’clock on a Friday night.
As I drive up
I see Angela sitting with Tim
and Tiffany watching headlights
passing by, waiting for the salon
to close down for the night, after
having swept the floor from the last cut.
Not yet, customers trickle in,
happy after a couple drinks at the
local bar, lonely after an evening
without a friend, or just passing by and
realizing they need a cut and Angela
is there; I fit in two of the categories.
She’s a big woman, immersing you
in the details of how her 12 year old
son, her mom, what was wrong
with her first marriage and why she’s
not rushing to do it again, she was just
thinking of you and wondered when
you’d come in again, after only one
cut and you believe her
because how can you
not.