I’ve always assumed the old men were just there, fixed, like lamps, but in love with their moths. – Tom Cardamone
As indicated by the caption, that’s an old photo.
That’s a look that got me profiled in New Hampshire, walking in a ritzy neighborhood.
‘A fitness buff and a real estate voyeur, he looked like he was casing the joint, possibly for a future burglary.’
That’s the look that got me pulled off a plane in Arizona because I matched the description of a molester at the airport.
https://www.jackdogwelch.com/?p=1774
A look that got me pulled aside in Honolulu at a different airport.
Seems I was a doppelganger for the drawing of a haole drug dealer in the police academy handbook.
Nota bene – suddenly feeling polyglottic – on none of these occasions was I holding or carrying or sans solid alibi.
Last time I ventured to my barbershop, I got a tight fade, which for you out-of-touch folks is like a crewcut, gradually high and spiky.
But short.
I have an inordinate affection for my barber, Dannie. He’s a fun – crazy in a good way – guy, rumored to have about ten kids. I have heard one end of many of his calls and I live in Florida and so I have not been back.
Likely you are already asking yourself – Dog, what’s a fade look like after eleven months?
Which got me to thinking.
So many choices.
Yet, like much of life these days, the options are myriad within a very narrow range.
Nota bene numerii due. If you find a house with a dog, just move on.
Nota bene numerii tre. Be the shiny object.
While the cops hassle your ass, the girlfriend has two kilos in her brassiere and all the authorities can think is ‘Oh, baby.’