Isaac took his seat and waited patiently. He enjoyed the classic feel of the barbershop he had stumbled upon; small stereo playing 1950s rock sat on the counter, a collection of photos of local youth sports teams lined the walls. “Don’t find places like this back home,” he said to himself.
“Okay, we’re all set,” the barber said returning from the back of the shop.
The barber was flanked by three others, all carrying sharpened sheers and walking in unison right for Isaac’s head.
Isaac yelled and leaped from the chair.
“Guys, guys, whoa, wait a tick, that is not what barbershop quartet means!” Isaac shouted as he fled the building.