I had such a sweet moment with my Astor Place hair cutter on New Year's Eve. Astor Place is one of the cheapest cuts in town, and I go there because with my short, short post-chemo hair, I need to get a cut every six weeks or my sparse locks part, revealing my pink scalp. Sad but true. So over the past four years or so, ever since I got some hair back, I've been going to Lenny, a Russian-speaking Brooklynite. We don't have a whole lot in common except that we get together 10 times a year to focus on the problem of my hair. And he performs his weird miracle: I leave with more hair than I came in with, even though the floor is thick with my gray locks.
This time when he was done, he looked me in the eye and said, "I have one wish for you, and I hope it comes true: I wish you health." It was so lovely and so sincere, it broke my heart (and my wallet, since it prompted a 100% tip), and I don't know whether he even knows my name.