ANTAR #015
ANTAR sat quietly. He had taken a chair near the window, not one that faced a mirror. A magazine rested open in his hands, turned to a page no one else ever read. He did not flip it. He did not skim. He considered it.
The salon believed strongly in urgency. Scissors clicked with purpose. Hair dryers argued with gravity. Conversations overlapped—weather, breakups, promotions, regret—trimmed into manageable lengths. Mirrors reflected confidence from angles no one had asked for. ANTAR sat quietly. He had taken a chair near the window, not one that faced a mirror. A magazine rested open in his hands, turned to a page no one else ever read. He did not flip it. He did not skim. He considered it. The barber noticed eventually. “Ready when you are,” he said, gesturing professionally. ANTAR smiled. “I am already ready.” This created a pause. Customers glanced sideways. Someone assumed he was waiting for someone important. Someone else assumed he was making a statement. A third decided he must be European. ANTAR continued reading. The magazine featured trends that would not survive the year. He nodded at an article that took itself seriously. He disagreed silently with a haircut described as timeless. The barber tried again. “Just a trim?” ANTAR looked up, thoughtful. “Not today.” “Tomorrow?” “Also unlikely.” The barber accepted this with the grace of someone who had seen stranger things in smaller cities. ANTAR sat while hair fell around him—none of it his. He watched people leave transformed, relieved, slightly confused by the cost. He noticed how mirrors made people speak differently. Faster. Kinder. Louder. When ANTAR finally stood, he placed the magazine back exactly where it had been. Uncreased. Unfinished. He nodded once to the barber, who nodded back without understanding why. Outside, the city continued styling itself. ANTAR walked on, unchanged. End of Log #015
