As I walked into the local barber shop for my weekly shave, I walked in on the barber sharpening his his razors. Per my usual routine, I hung up my bullet studded belt together with my military hat, and said “It’s hot as hell, give me a shave.” Slightly inclined in the barbers chair, I explained that several other troops of mine would have the same length beard as I. As I continued to talk, the barber enveloped a sheet around my redden neck and I shut my eyes out of fatigue. He began to apply the first coat; I told him how easily I could doze off. As we continued to talk, he unusually started shaking and trembling. Was there something I said or did? He almost seemed nervous as if he was hiding something from me. The barber continued the shaving
