Today I acquired the means to extract the photos in my cell phone, which have been percolating in its memory for almost two months. Some time last month, we took Irfan for a haircut at the barber’s. It was the third time for him at the place, if I remember right. He never goes first. I have to have my hair cut before him.
But when he sits in the chair, he’s one docile kid, peering intently at his own reflection in the mirror as his locks come off.