I'm Major Jackson, and this is The Slowdown.

No one knows Trinney's real name.

In a bed-sty New York City barbershop, he is simply called by the country of his birth,

Trinney doesn't talk much while offering up the flyest fade to men and women alike.

I love his laser-like focus, the precision of his clippers, and the light touch of his

scissors on my head, when he does speak, his melodious voice is poetry.

While lining up my sides, he drops wisdom like coins in my ear.

Three models for me are respect for craft.

The other barbers are just as meticulous, but they cut up left and right.

They joke about people walking in with ten-year-old sneakers, andcessantly debate the greatest

of all time, Michael Jordan or LeBron James, and raucously argue political headlines.

They pause and wave razors above Cape Clients to make their points loud enough for people

walking outside to hear.

They are joyous and free, a model for me too.

I love the spaces we enter, in which we feel a rich sense of our differences, of our

collective humanity, and a lightness of being.

Days poem exhibits the kind of love, and care, and humor that passes through us, out

in the world.

Love and the deli counter, by Jill McDonough.

At my stop and shop, the ladies at the deli counter give us free slices of meat, so we can

talk about how thin we want it.

Everyone wants it thinner, but me.

...