The Final Cut

I’m not about to launch into a post about Pink Floyd I’m afraid. Not least because the Final Cut album was pretty rubbish. Nope I’m talking about my last haircut, sometime before Christmas. I go to a barber/hairdresser across the road from my house. The barber is, like many in the hair industry, as gay as anything – although he doesn’t go in for lip stick and mini skirts like a lot of the Lady Boy hairdressers in the area! Augustin, who I guess is in his 50’s, has a little salon set up on the ground floor of his small but three floored flat. Bright colours (you could almost say ‘gaily coloured!) a proper barbers chair and Brylcream – a proper barbers in other words.

But I shan’t be going there for haircut anymore. My last cut there really was the final cut. Because on Monday morning someone went into his salon, tortured him and then killed him. Why, I have no idea. Maybe there was a reason behind it. Maybe it was just yet another senseless murder, in a city full of senseless murders.


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