2003nov28. I was walking by Supercuts Monday and a woman walked out of the shop, followed by a man in one of those white uniforms that the fake farmaceuticos wear down in Tijuana over their t-shirts and jeans. He said something about a “violation” and then I tuned in to his next statement: “ ... and if you leave the property, it’s another violation.” I match speeds with my new best buddy, the Supercuts Suspected Shoplifter. What do you take from Supercuts? Bad haircut? Bottles of Paul Mitchell Overpriced Chemical Soup Styling Gel? Mr. Supercuts goes back to HQ to grab a cellphone. I’m between the two of them, we’re a convoy of controversy. “She’s wearing a blue jacket, dark cap, blue jeans, two backpacks ... headed east on Irving ... ” She turns the corner, the guy hustles and turns and she’s gone. He heads back to the shop, I walk down the street a little, turn into a parking lot, and there she is, taking off her cap, switching her dark-colored jacket for a lighter one, mussing up her hair, stuffing one backpack in the other one, walking, never looking back. She’s got a whole new look (a thought: get some window-pane cheaters, clown nose ... “you can’t miss her, she’s wearing a freakin’ CLOWN NOSE!”). Now she’s walking right past the back of Supercuts. Turning South again. I was going to ask her if it was some sort of gang initiation but I wasn’t in the mood for a shin-rake that day.
