It isn't listed in the Yellow Pages and there's no sign over the door, but drop by this singular establishment on your way to a Swensen's double dip and you'll find yourself sporting one admirable haircut. There's more to the whole experience than a mere clip job, however. Settle into the comfortably dilapidated chair of honor and take in your surroundings: the vintage barbering tools; the beautiful wood carvings; the myriad tonics and lotions; the original artwork, figurative and otherwise. Charlie Parker noodles on the stereo; the Hyde Street cable clatters up the hill outside; the barber, a salty sort, drops bons mots about politics, the Giants, and our knavish local heritage while his scissors flutter about your cranium like a metallic hummingbird.
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