Class Trip ’95 (Part 3) by KF_NDN

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Chapter 3 â€" The Transformation

In the salon, the air smelled of shaving soap and metal, of warmth and a foreign calm.
Outside, the street glowed in the afternoon light; inside, all that could be heard was the muffled hum of a running machine.
The students sat close together on the bench; no one spoke. On the floor still lay remnants of the punk’s green hair â€" colorful shadows on gray tiles.
But now the room belonged to the skinheads.

Andi sat down on the chair, shrugged off his bomber jacket.
"Time for me," he said quietly. "Machine without guard. Take it all off â€" zero."

The younger barber, called Jan, nodded, grabbed the clippers whose film of oil gleamed in the light.
When he switched them on, the deep, vibrating buzz filled the air.
He wrapped the paper strip around Andi’s neck, pulled the cape over him, smoothed it out, and said softly,
"Head down, or it’ll go crooked."
Andi lowered his chin to his chest.

The blade touched the nape and drew the first line upward. The sound was quiet yet sure â€" a steady, full rasp.
The small pale hairs fell onto the cape, glimmered briefly, and stayed there.
Jan worked calmly, movement by movement: from the nape to the crown, then around the ear, second side, over the swirl.

"Nice and clean," said the second barber, stepping closer.
He was in his mid-twenties, athletic build, broad shoulders, dark eyes, an expression of patient strength.
His movements had an easy confidence that made everyone glance at him, without knowing why.

"That’s how it’s done," Rico murmured. "No squirming, no fuss â€" he just lets it happen."

Jan brushed the neck clean, reached for the bowl of shaving cream. The scent of lemon mixed with metal.
He spread the foam evenly â€" neck, sides, top. The white layer shone under the neon light.
Then he unfolded the razor handle, tested the sharpness against the edge of a paper strip â€" a soft metallic snap.


To be continued.

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