culture
Published: November 3, 2010
"I have to hear the same stuff over and over day after day," the 59-year-old says, with mock weariness of the barber's endless stories. "Believe me, I've heard everything." He's known Kithas since the barber first moved to Greektown and Silverstein was a 5-year-old dragged to a haircut by his dad.
Kithas listens to Silverstein say these things about him and says, exasperated, "We have argument many times, years and years and years." But then he calls Silverstein his friend anyway.
Between customers, Kithas will sit in his barber's chair, not reading, not talking, just looking forward, relaxing in the enjoyment of being at work still one more day. He doesn't need the money. He just likes the company of the guys.
"My wife say, 'How long you gonna work?' I say, 'Until the day I die.' What's wrong with that? My job is my life," he says. "If I stay home all day I would miss all these people."
After a quiet spell, two more cops make their way in. Two haircuts to be done. And the barber's eyes light up because he sees two more friends.
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