The buzzer slid across my head with sickening efficiency. Row after row, the hair separated from my scalp, effortlessly floating down to the floor. The bathroom was small and contained: a shower to the left, a mirror straight ahead. The image reflected was of a “streamlined” me and my good friend Mike, standing there with the buzzer in hand.

Mike was grinning. He loves this stuff. Buzzing heads is his thing. I’m the latest victim. My brother is next and on the way. He’s got an afro. I’m afraid that when he sees me, he’ll have second thoughts. But that’s the least of my worries right now.

The rest of the hair comes off. We decided on the shortest cut: a number one. The length is so short, it’s shocking.