My Life, and Frank Castle's

My barber, Damien, never talks to me. Today he said, in his thick Italian accent:

"How old you?"

"Forty-four," I said.

"How long you been coming here?"

"Since it was Sal's. More than twenty years."

Then he pointed out my first strands of gray hair. "Can you fix that?" I asked.

He laughed. "Impossibile."

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