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Seriously, it's not the hair cut.,,,, Robert Wayne Hayworth's debut novel, “Hair-​Brained Humor: Humorous Stories from the Barbershop” is for.
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On a scale of , how likely are you to recommend the Cape Breton Post? Top News. Visit SaltWire. Atlantic Canadian charities need year-round love. DayOfKindness in the name of John Dunsworth. When punk rock and philanthropy meet. Sorry you must be at least 19 years of age to consume this content.

The business has been going at a steady clip since then.


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He felt of a sudden light-headed, as if he had taken the pills himself. He worked to pry off the cap. Two of the dark tablets fell into his palm, like drops of chocolate.

His mouth went dry at the sight. She turned. She looked at him, unblinking. Then her lips stretched in what he thought was a sneering smile. For an instant he felt himself sway, then saw that it was she who was tottering. She reached for the side of the sink to steady herself. In two strides he was beside her, catching her under her arms. How heavy she was! He staggered under the burden, like a porter with a steamship trunk.

Her legs, in her tight black pants, dragged after her. One of her shoes remained on the carpet. The arm around his neck was choking off the air, the way a drowning man will pull his rescuer into the depths. They stopped. He disentangled himself and rolled her onto the cushions.

Oh, you silly woman. Please, keep breathing.

Seven Riddles from the Town with Two Barbers

That is the way. She lolled on the couch, her head thrown back over the crest, her legs splayed. But her chest, half exposed, rose and fell. But all he meant was that he was going to the phone that hung on the kitchen wall. He plucked up the receiver and pushed the emergency numbers.

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But his shaking finger struck the wrong buttons: silence. He hung up and tried again. This time a woman answered. The operator was calm. She asked him how he knew she was dying. What were her symptoms? Had anything happened? Was there a pulse? Was she breathing? To all of this Mr. Barbakoff uttered one word: Poisoned.

Then he gave the Allston Street address.

Hair's looking at you, John the Barber

He went back to the living room. Alive or dead? Now tears were streaming from her eyes. His own, at this sight, welled. He went onto his knees. Like a suitor he took her hand. They are on their way. Just a few minutes. Can you breathe? Take a breath for me. Her chest heaved at the command. With his free hand he dug at his breast pocket. An old fashioned man, he kept a handkerchief there. He dabbed at her eyes.

Why are you crying? They will be here soon. A doctor. The ambulance. No reason to cry.

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Carla, please do not be sad. At that the tears came gushing anew. He was alarmed to find his handkerchief soaked. He put a finger under her eye, as a sort of dam. He was startled, as if a manikin or a statue had started to speak. To hear your voice. He did so, and saw that the flow of tears had stopped on their own. Now her eyes narrowed. What was the phrase? Looking daggers. He thought again of the murderess: Lady Macbeth. Abashed, he turned his own eyes aside. He started to babble.

They said immediately. This is unacceptable. But you are going to live. But I understand nothing.