Brandon visits a yard sale by ShaggyDS

---

Another short story with the help of chat AI. Hope to work on more character development in the future.

Brandon pushed off the pavement, his skateboard gliding smoothly over the warm asphalt as the summer sun cast long shadows across the neighborhood. His wavy brown hair danced with the wind, the ends reaching just past his shoulders—too long, too wild, and definitely creeping into the realm of annoying. He brushed an errant strand from his face and kept cruising, the rhythmic hum of his wheels on the sidewalk filling his ears.

As he rounded a familiar corner, something new caught his eye—a yard sale sprawled across a sun-bleached lawn. It was the usual assortment: dusty old yard tools leaning against a makeshift table, stacks of worn paperbacks, a pile of slightly faded clothes, and a collection of small furniture pieces that had clearly seen better days. But it wasn’t the ordinary clutter that made him stop. Toward the back, standing like some relic of a forgotten era, was an old barber’s chair. The cracked leather and dulled metal suggested years of use, but it was the hand-scrawled sign taped to the headrest that really got his attention:

SUMMER HAIRCUTS - $5 DONATION

Brandon came to a halt, one foot kicking his board up into his hands as he stared at the chair. The idea of it—someone just offering haircuts at a yard sale—was both strange and intriguing. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly more aware than ever of its unruly length.

"You thinking about it, son?"

The voice pulled him from his thoughts. Brandon turned to see an older gentleman standing nearby, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked to be in his sixties, his silver hair cropped short and neat, his face lined but kind. The man nodded toward the chair with an easy smile.

"I see you eyeing the sign," he said. "Long summer like this, a fresh cut can make all the difference."

Brandon hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I dunno. Just kinda caught me off guard. You really cutting hair out here?"

The man chuckled. "Been a barber for forty years. Retired now, but old habits die hard. Figured I’d put the chair out, meet some folks, and do some good. Money goes to the local shelter."

Brandon glanced back at the chair, then ran his fingers through his tangled waves again. It had been months since his last cut, and the thought of stepping into that chair, of letting go of some of that weight—both literal and maybe figurative—sent a strange mix of nerves and curiosity through him.

The barber watched him for a moment, then patted the chair’s armrest. "No pressure, kid. But you might just walk away feeling lighter in more ways than one."

Brandon gave a small chuckle. "I dunno, man. I kinda like it long… but it does get in the way sometimes."

The old man nodded, folding his arms. "That’s the thing about hair—it grows back. But a fresh cut? That can be a restart. Shake off a little of the past, feel the breeze on your neck again. It’s good for the soul."

Brandon scratched at his scalp absentmindedly. "Yeah, but what if I hate it?"

The barber grinned. "Then you’ll have a funny story to tell. And I won’t take it all off, just clean it up. Give you something sharp, something that makes you feel good looking in the mirror."

Brandon let out a breath, looking down at his skateboard, then back at the chair. "I dunno, man. Five bucks, huh?"

"Five bucks," the barber confirmed. "And you get a little wisdom thrown in for free."

Brandon smirked. "Alright," he said, taking a step forward. "Let’s do this."

He hesitated only for a moment before settling into the old barber’s chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The barber reached behind him and picked up a striped cape, the kind you’d see in an old-school barbershop, and with a practiced flick, he draped it over Brandon and fastened it snug around his neck.

"Comfy?" the barber asked, giving the chair a little spin.

Brandon swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

The barber chuckled as he reached for a comb, running it through Brandon’s thick waves. "Whew, you weren’t kidding about it being long. You got a whole head of hair here, kid."

Brandon smirked nervously. "Yeah, it kinda has a mind of its own."

The barber nodded, carefully untangling a few strands. "How about we go for something practical? Longish crewcut, keep some of the length on top but clean up the sides. Sharp, easy to manage, and perfect for summer."

Brandon inhaled sharply. "Crewcut, huh? That’s… pretty short."

"Not too short," the barber reassured him. "Still got some style, but no more hair in your eyes every time the wind blows."

Brandon glanced at himself in the small mirror propped up on a nearby table. He imagined himself with shorter hair, lighter, easier. He exhaled slowly and gave a hesitant nod. "Alright… let’s do it."

The barber smiled, picking up his clippers. "Good choice, kid. You’re gonna love it."

With a flick of the switch, the clippers buzzed to life, their steady hum filling the air. The barber started at the nape of Brandon’s neck, pressing the clippers gently against his skin and guiding them upward. A thick lock of hair tumbled down, landing on the cape in his lap. Brandon tensed slightly, watching as more strands followed, sliding down the fabric and pooling around him.

"Relax," the barber said, his voice calm and reassuring. "We’re just getting rid of the bulk first."

He continued working methodically, lifting sections of hair and trimming them down with precision. The clippers moved seamlessly along the sides of Brandon’s head, reducing the weight that had once constantly fallen into his face. With each pass, more of his reflection began to emerge, sharper and cleaner than before.

The barber switched to scissors for the top, carefully snipping away just enough to leave it textured and styled. He tousled the remaining length with his fingers, stepping back to assess his work. "Looking good," he said with a nod. "Sharp, but still got that easygoing look."

Brandon blinked at his reflection. His head felt lighter, the summer air cool against his freshly shorn neck. He ran a hand through the shorter strands, an uncertain smile creeping onto his face.

"Well?" the barber asked, dusting away stray hairs with a soft brush.

Brandon let out a breath, then grinned. "Yeah… yeah, I think I like it."

The barber chuckled, unfastening the cape with a practiced hand. "Told ya. Five bucks well spent."

Brandon laughed, shaking his head. "Guess so."

As he stepped off the chair and grabbed his skateboard, he couldn’t help but feel a little different—lighter, freer. Maybe the old guy was right. Sometimes, a fresh cut really was a restart.

---