The Law is the Law by justin

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In the summer of 1964, the small town of Bradford, nestled in the heart of the Midwest, was a place where tradition held strong. The town square was dominated by the towering clock tower, its chimes echoing through the streets every hour. The local diner served coffee as black as night, and the high school football team was the pride of every man, woman, and child. But beneath the serene facade of this seemingly idyllic town, a peculiar law was rigorously enforced.

Sheriff Amos Carter had been the law in Bradford for nearly twenty years. He was a large man with a thick mustache and a penchant for keeping things just as they'd always been. Sheriff Carter believed in order and conformity, and to him, long hair on men was a sign of rebellion—a challenge to the very fabric of society. So when the town council passed a law declaring it illegal for men to grow their hair past their collars, Sheriff Carter was the first to ensure it was strictly upheld.

It started innocuously enough, with a few gentle warnings. Men passing through town were pulled over and politely reminded of the local customs. But as the summer days grew longer and the influence of the counterculture spread like wildfire through the nation, Sheriff Carter decided that warnings were no longer sufficient. The law would be enforced with the severity it deserved.

One August morning, Bobby Jameson and his friends, Rick and Danny, strolled down Main Street, their long hair brushing the tops of their shoulders. All three were 19 at the time. The boys had just returned from a trip to the city, where they had soaked in the sights and sounds of the burgeoning music scene. Bobby's hair, once neatly trimmed, now cascaded down in loose waves, a symbol of the freedom he felt.

As they walked past the courthouse, Sheriff Carter spotted them from his office window. His eyes narrowed, and he felt a familiar irritation prickling at the back of his neck. He grabbed his hat, slammed it onto his head, and strode out the door, his boots clacking against the wooden floorboards.

"Hold it right there, boys!" Sheriff Carter's voice boomed through the air, causing the boys to freeze in their tracks.

Bobby turned, a half-smile on his face. "Morning, Sheriff," he said, trying to keep the mood light.

"Don't 'morning' me, Bobby," the sheriff growled. "You know the law. Hair like that ain’t fit for decent folk."

Danny shifted uncomfortably, while Rick frowned, defiant. "It’s just hair, Sheriff. What harm’s it doing?"

Sheriff Carter wasn’t in the mood for a debate. He motioned to his deputies, who had followed him out. "Take ’em in. We’re gonna make sure they understand what the law means around here."

The boys protested, but the deputies were firm, ushering them into the back of the police car. The ride to the barbershop was silent, the tension thick as the smell of freshly cut grass wafted in through the open windows.

When they arrived at Old Man Jensen's barbershop, Sheriff Carter gave a curt nod to the barber, who was already prepared with his electric clippers in hand. The boys were lined up in the small, dimly lit shop, the air heavy with the scent of aftershave and tobacco.

"You first, Bobby," the sheriff ordered.

Bobby hesitated, glancing at his friends, but there was no way out. With a resigned sigh, he stepped forward and sat in the old barber’s chair. The leather creaked under his weight, and he felt the cold metal of the clippers press against the back of his neck.

Old Man Jensen flipped the switch, and the clippers roared to life with a mechanical hum. Bobby braced himself as the barber started at the nape of his neck, guiding the clippers upward with a firm, practiced hand. The long strands of Bobby’s hair fell away, replaced by a neat, short cut that tapered tightly at the back and sides.

Bobby watched in the mirror as his wild waves were transformed into a close-cropped businessman’s cut, the kind that left no room for rebellion. The clippers buzzed relentlessly, trimming his hair down to a respectable length that just brushed the tops of his ears. When it was over, Bobby barely recognized himself.

But Old Man Jensen wasn’t finished yet. He reached for a bottle of hair tonic on the counter, its glass container reflecting the dim light of the barbershop. The tonic was a staple in Bradford—its crisp, clean scent a reminder of the town’s unchanging values. With a few quick shakes, Jensen poured a small amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together before massaging the tonic into Bobby’s freshly cut hair.

The barber’s fingers worked methodically, smoothing Bobby’s hair into place, ensuring every strand was perfectly aligned. The tonic gave Bobby’s new haircut a sleek, polished look, the shine catching the light as he turned his head. The rebellious waves were now tamed into a sharp, side-parted style, the kind that would make any father in Bradford proud.

One by one, Rick and Danny were given the same treatment. The clippers buzzed and hummed as the barber skillfully sheared away their long hair, leaving them with neat, short haircuts that conformed perfectly to the town’s expectations. Once the clippers were done, Jensen applied the hair tonic to each of them, running his fingers through their hair to achieve the same polished, businessman’s style. Rick’s shaggy locks were replaced by a sharp, side-parted style, while Danny’s curls were clipped close and slicked back neatly, giving him a look that was clean-cut and proper.

Sheriff Carter watched with satisfaction, his arms crossed over his chest.

When the last boy stood up, Sheriff Carter nodded approvingly. "There. Now you boys look like respectable young men. Remember, this town has rules, and you’re expected to follow them."

The boys were silent as they were led back to the police car. As they were driven back to the edge of town, the sheriff offered one last piece of advice.

"Next time you think about growing that hair out, you remember this day. Bradford ain’t the city, and it never will be. We keep things the way they ought to be here."

The boys were released just outside the town limits, their hair trimmed, slicked, and their spirits dampened. As they walked away, the sun beginning to set behind them, they vowed never to return to Bradford. The world outside was changing, and they knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of the country caught up.

But in Bradford, time stood still, and Sheriff Carter made sure of it.

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