The Weekday One Hundred

I settled into the weathered antique we kept in our creepy, unfinished basement. Though the leather was decades old and worn, it was still supple, almost warm to the touch.

Nana’s vintage barber chair.

She was an unrivaled talent, a skilled entrepreneur and a woman ahead of her time. Of course the family was going to claim the relic when she eventually passed.

I eased my head back, closed my eyes. My job interview was in two hours, and I knew she’d insist I go clean shaven.

So… why not give her the business?    

Old habits die hard, I guess.