MERRY CHRISTMAS, TONI. sent me to cut my hair just before the Christmas holidays. Usually coincided with the day of the lottery. Toni had that place full of entries. In the mirror, on the counter. The steaming radio this morning. Take a dark rimmed glasses, no modern survivors of an earlier time than ours, like her hair or her gown. Everything was old in hairdressing Toni except say. They were of all colors, of Vizcares or third trip of BUP. From time to time someone opened the door and made a joke and he answered, he turned and continued driving the scissors with skill that only those who have been doing this a few years, twenty or more, I thought, looked out head to the street and back to enter. I remember the noise of the radio, the voices and cold. If I close my eyes I can feel the cold in the neck and the sting of the colony that I always applied carelessly. I looked in the mirror and saw him. Checking terminations and puffing.
Once I returned home with bangs because I knew he wanted to meet Toni and I cut his hair. I must have six or seven years. I guess when he retired stopped cutting hair and could work full time (as they say now) to the theme of the lottery. He also liked football and was named after a canoeing club. Almost nothing. Possibly died without seeing the broadcasts of Ana Belen Roy, its old-fashioned glasses or without touch his fat. Do not spend a morning in which I do not remember him.
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