The degree to which a gentleman reveals himself to another is a curious state of affairs at the best of times, though I suppose the holding of a razor to one’s throat helps. That said, I doubt anyone would be the slightest bit surprised at a gentleman’s willingness to betray the confidence of another, whether
Pompadour, Caesar, Undercut, Crew. French Crop, Ivy League, Mid fade, Buzz. I guess it starts with the smell of American Crew and sweat. At least, that’s what my mind stretches for as I look back- I’ve no sense for certain, what with the throbbing drum in my head and the hallucinatory quality of my vision.