I was walking the streets of La Habana Vieja, it was an early evening and the light was coming down already. As I spotted the busy hairdresser behind a ground floor barred window, he caught my eyes and paused for about a few seconds. Then he smiled and focused on the haircut again. Scenes depicting hairdressers, mostly when they involve men, often bring back souvenirs of childhood. Any man seated on a hairdresser’s big chair, with a long cape covering him, defenseless and displaying a slightly worried look as a pair of sharpened scissors go through his hair, inevitably looks like, and reminds the rest of us of the kid he (we) used to be.