My barber wanted to know where I was from, again? The US, of course. "Awful mess at the moment, ay?" he says.

"What, do you mean with this 'plot' and all?"

"Oh, ay. Can you imagine, if they'd blown up ten planes crossing the Atlantic? It's just terrible, I think, it's just terrible. And what gets me is"—he stops cutting, and looks at me in the mirror—"these guys were British citizens behavin this way." He pauses. "Raised in the same society as you and I. D'you ken what I mean?"

I kenned what he meant, but I didn't want to nod and reassure him. I let him go on.

"I mean, can you imagine. (beat) And you can't take nothing on the planes anymore."

"Seems they might have overreacted with that; they've thrown the airports into chaos."

"Oh, ay, but it's better than getting blown up halfway to Chicago, a'n't it?"

"Yeah, it is that."

"You know what I think." He stops cutting again, lays his arm on my shoulder. "Because these people, they don't respect society. They're not like ordinary criminals, murderers an' that. You know what I think. I think they need a world body that can take these people and just shoot them. Because if they don't—if they're willing to kill themselves, if their lives aren't worth nothin to them, then we should just get rid of them, do you ken what I mean?"

Now I really wasn't sure I kenned what he meant.

"Because it's not enough for any one government, d'you ken what I mean? It's not enough for any one government to do it, we need a world body, that can take these people and just shoot 'em. Because society canna deal with them, ay?"

"Hm."

"Because society canna deal with them, and they don't believe in society. How can you deal with it, really?"

I considered this perspective for a moment.

"I can imagine a lot of people objecting to that idea, of a world government that can shoot people based on whatever evidence."

"But it's the only way, isn't it? How can you deal with this problem, these people aren't part of society?"

"Well, the nice thing about having separate countries is that at least no one has too much power. There's always someplace else you can go, if your own government is too wild."

"Oh, ay, ay."

The silent hair-cutting that followed told me I had either said quite the wrong thing or else exactly the right thing, I wasn't sure.

"I think it's just terrible, just terrible, what's going on in the world today."

"Yeah."

"It's just terrible, just terrible."

What is it that barbers want? They always chat, and usually not about petty things. Do they want me to agree? To argue back with some spine? Tell jokes? Honestly, I wish they'd put a sock in it and just got on with the barbering.