It was an Upper East Side barber shop, where little boys rolled up jeans cuffs and sat in Jeep chairs instead of on the plank that spanned a man’s barber chair when I was a little boy. If today I had the choice of looking back at a photo of myself in the old man’s plank seat or this one, I would go plank. I’m visible to them on the sidewalk outside the barber shop. I think the woman far right gets it. The woman to her right: not sure. The barber/stylist is either discussing the cut or is flagging my presence. But the boy, the boy is taking dead aim. Perhaps he knew. (1995 or 1996)