It cost me $5. We heard from a friend of a local friend’s friend that a lady in town was running the business from her house. Driving to the shadier part of town, we found her standing on her front porch, dogs barking around her feet. There were piles of black, fuzzy cut hair pooled on the floor and a few scattered plastic chairs stacked around the place. A young lady sat at a small wooden table, hair foils fermenting in place, hands outstretched with nails being painted.
Considering my rusty Spanish, explaining a preferred cut was not an option. A snip here, a cut there, flutters of blonde strands danced to the floor. Shorter and shorter, followed by the unfortunate realization – I think she’s giving me bangs.
But don’t judge a book by its cover. It turns out my $5 Central American haircut may just be the best I’ve ever had.
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