The Laser Razor
In Quebec, a man named Gene shaved with a razor he designed that cut the hair with lasers. Gene was proud of his laser razor, and he hummed while he uses it because it always gives a perfect shave even if he’s not looking in a mirror.
He daydreamed that a voice called from the bathroom doorway. “Gene? Did you remember to get those reports from Protocol?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Cheyanne stepped out of the bathroom and secured the towel under her arm. Cheyanne supervised that branch of the lab and reported bi-monthly to a liaison from the main facility in Ontario.
“Springfield is coming in from Toronto next week, and I need to have my report together before then.”
“Why are you in a towel?” Gene said. “Are you naked under there?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh.”
But that’s the way Gene was, always spoiling his own fantasies. He wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t have his laser razor. He ran a bit of tap water over his face to rinse off the clipped ends, and he slid the razor into its velvet bag. His fingers ran as smoothly over his face as they would over polished ice.
He daydreamed that a voice called from the bathroom doorway. “Gene? Did you remember to get those reports from Protocol?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Cheyanne stepped out of the bathroom and secured the towel under her arm. Cheyanne supervised that branch of the lab and reported bi-monthly to a liaison from the main facility in Ontario.
“Springfield is coming in from Toronto next week, and I need to have my report together before then.”
“Why are you in a towel?” Gene said. “Are you naked under there?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh.”
But that’s the way Gene was, always spoiling his own fantasies. He wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t have his laser razor. He ran a bit of tap water over his face to rinse off the clipped ends, and he slid the razor into its velvet bag. His fingers ran as smoothly over his face as they would over polished ice.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home