My Barber, My Dry-Cleaning Lady, and My Bodega Guy: Three Tales of Love and Loss in New York City – The New Yorker


The New Yorker
My Barber, My Dry-Cleaning Lady, and My Bodega Guy: Three Tales of Love and Loss in New York City
The New Yorker
To me he was always just “Mark.” For years he was the only man I let touch my head, and his chair was a judgment-free zone. Once I brought him a copy of US Weekly and, too ashamed to speak, held up a photo of Orlando Bloom and wiggled my eyebrows.

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