Paintball Gear 2: Six Months Later by CleanCutTieGuy

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Six months later, John found himself back on Main Street, pulling up to "Mike's Barbershop." The scorching summer day of the paintball tournament was a distant memory, replaced by the distinct chill of late autumn. His hair, having grown out considerably, was back to its shaggy, pre-military cut length. He was coming straight from work, so he was dressed in his usual office attire: a blue dress shirt tucked into his charcoal gray dress pants, and a neatly knotted tie.

He stepped inside the familiar shop. Mike, the older barber, was sweeping up clippings, just as before. He looked up, offered a polite nod, but there was no spark of recognition in his eyes.

"Have a seat, young man," Mike said, gesturing to the chair.

John settled in, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Mike draped the cape over him, securing it with a practiced snap.

"So, what'll it be today?" Mike asked, picking up his comb.

"Do you remember me?" John inquired, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Mike paused, studying John's face more closely, then shook his head. "Can't say I do. My memory ain't what it used to be."

John chuckled. "Six months ago, I came in here dressed for a paintball tournament â€" camo pants, boots, olive t-shirt. You thought I was military and gave me a military haircut."

A light dawned in Mike's eyes. His brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared as he slapped his thigh. "Oh! The paintball fella! Well, I'll be! No wonder I didn't recognize you. Last time, you looked ready for active duty after I cut your hair. Today, you look like you just came from the office, and your hair's got some length to it."

John laughed. "Yeah, that's me. And actually, I really liked that cut. I want the same thing as last time."

Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. "All righty. We will get you back in regulation straight away."

Mike picked up his well used clippers, the buzzing sound a familiar prelude. He started at the nape of John's neck, the cold steel gliding upwards, clippering off months of growth in swift, decisive strokes. The longish strands that had been tickling John's collar for weeks fell away in clumps, revealing the pale skin beneath. The clippers whirred, making quick work of the bulk. Months of growth fell away as the sides were reduced and faded up into a tight, military-precise taper. Then, with scissors, Mike tackled the top, snipping down the substantial length to that familiar one and a half inch length. It was a swift, efficient process, erasing six months of casual growth in a matter of minutes.

When Mike finally spun the chair around, John saw the same stark, commanding reflection as before. The military look was back, sharp and uncompromising.

"There you go," Mike announced, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Looks just as good on you now as it did then." He clapped John on the shoulder. "But listen, if you want to keep looking this sharp, you can't be waiting six months between visits. You need to be coming in every four to six weeks to keep that cut in top shape. Trust me, it makes all the difference."

John smiled, running a hand over his freshly shorn head. "You're right, Mike. I'll make sure to put it on the calendar. Thanks again."

**John's story will continue in part 3. Let me know what you think in the comments.

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