written by Rosa Morgan
With almost diabolical gusto he ran the blade a few times along the pigskin strop then brought it up to my extended neck. I feared how he would navigate my Adam's Apple without making me a permanent falsetto, but my trepidation was for naught for like an artist with his paintbrush, the barber deftly manipulated his tool throughout an incessant chatter.
"Lilac water, sir?" he asked when he had finished
I nodded and felt a tingling, slightly burning sensation of the fragrant tonic. I handed him the two pence payment, nodded to the other gentlemen, and sauntered out, ready to take on the world.