Weihnachtsschnitt

He laughed at me when he saw me coming in the door. It had gotten that ridiculous.
"Hallo Stefan," I said. "Bin zurück!"
It was time for another haircut. Although I'd gone past caring anymore. There are plenty of distractions these days and I’d gotten used to having a sheep on my head and people looking at me strangely. Very baaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.
My first paycheque from the AP allowed the long overdue, however. So last night, to cap a busy day in which I collected my bicycle from the bike doctor and my boots from the shoe mender, I went back to Haartari on Bänschstraße to be their last customer before Christmas. After me Stefan needs a holiday.
Instructions were simply as always: “Nicht so dick und kein MacGyver Look.” I hold poor old Angus in the highest esteem but I sure as hell don’t want to look like him. Anymore.
Stefan got to work with furious abandon. (Why is abandon always furious? I've never heard of it being anything else.) In between his wild tales of strip clubs and debauchery we reminisced about our favourite beers and agreed Becks is shite, only fit to be drunk to be drunk or when there’s nothing else to be drunk, by drunks.
By the time he finished both of us could have done with a drink and I looked semi-presentable once again. Just in time for Christmas! Now I just need a hat.