I moved outside to a warmer table that wasn’t underneath an air conditioner. It was quiet out there on the patio. I left the table, came back, and saw that my backpack was gone. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad if it was stolen. It had valuable things, but nothing like my laptop. I could’ve lived with the loss. But when I came back and saw that it was gone, I panicked. I looked around. It couldn’t possibly have been stolen.

Then the barista came outdoors, holding my backpack and smiling. I was relieved. My first guess was that the barista had taken it to prevent it from being stolen. But a man came up to me with long black hair and a toothless smile and said, “You left your backpack outside, man.” So he’d taken it inside because he thought I’d lost it. What a Good Samaritan. But at the same time I should’ve yelled at him for touching my stuff when I’d left it there on purpose to mark my territory, to show everyone the table was mine. My heart stopped racing. I could relax, but not too much because the day would carry too much weight.

That was Friday. I got a haircut finally. A barber smiled at me and asked if I was a walk-in. I said yes. He told me to wait a second. There was a man before me sitting on the waiting couch. The barber called me first and skipped over the other man.

The other man said, “Oh, I thought you were calling me since I was here first.”

The barber told him he would have to wait. The man sat on the couch again and moped. Poor man. I should’ve given up my spot, but I didn’t.

My barber was very soft spoken, so soft spoken that I thought I was losing my hearing. I listen to a lot of loud music through my headphones, so I figured it could’ve been hearing loss. I’ve been dealing with a lot of ringing in my ears, but it could be all in my mind, or the man was too soft-spoken to be heard all the way. Everything around him was louder, so his voice was lost in a sea of noise. I kept having to ask, “What?” I was worried.

He asked what I wanted, and I told him the usual: three on the sides and back and a little off the top. He asked if I wanted a three on both sides. I thought he was insane. I told him no and repeated a three on both sides and a three on the back, a little off the top. So he started shaving my head with the three, all the while talking.

His first question was if I was gay or straight. I didn’t think that mattered, and I didn’t think the question was appropriate. But I’m a nice, open man, so I told him I was straight. He was gay. And I live in a predominantly gay community, which he’d said, and I told him I knew. Then he began to mention all the different places to eat and drink at in this town. I could barely hear what he said. He said he was from Seattle, was born and bred in Indiana, and had moved to Palm Springs. He said Seattle was beautiful this time of year: the right temperature and everything was in bloom. I still haven’t gone to Seattle but plan to go sometime, as I’ve heard so many wonderful things. But I don’t plan on traveling anytime soon.

He snipped the top with scissors after shaving the rest of my head. Then he rubbed warm shaving cream along the sides of my face and pulled out a razor, the kind that barbers use to shave men’s beards. It scared me because as he was shaving me, he kept talking about restaurants to eat at and Indiana. I thought he should’ve focused on shaving me instead of talking. Luckily I didn’t walk away with any cuts, but he was a professional. He should’ve known how to shave me and talk at the same time. I tipped him twelve dollars and went on my way back home on foot. I won’t get another haircut for about the next two months.