My father. Two months ago.
Ezra opens his eyes. He stares at his reflection—hair shorter, cleaner, but not severe. Softer at the edges. He looks younger. Or older. Or simply here . o4m barbershop sc. 2
You left a little length at the crown.
O4M pauses. For the first time, he looks at Ezra’s reflection—not his hair, not his posture, but his eyes. My father
Same time next month?
First time.
O4M (pronounced “Oh-for-em”) stands near the mirror, slowly wiping a pair of shears with a white cloth. He is in his late fifties, precise, deliberate. His movements are small, efficient—like a man who has learned that economy of motion is a form of kindness. not his posture
