Got a haircut for free today. I asked Suz to cut it, and she wouldn't. She has always refused out of fear that she will do it wrong. Then I asked Boots, downstairs, to cut it. She was scared too, and refused. So I went walking down the street, with a fiver in one hand and scissors and a brush in the other. I was hoping to bump into a Mom, someone for whom cutting hair is no big deal. A skinny trimet uniformed guy on a bike stopped rolling when I waved, but then said he couldn't cut my hair for me, and acted like he thought I might be nuts, maybe dangerous. Finally I asked a guy with a couple of dogs at the elementary school. He asked what it means to cut my hair, and I said take a couple inches off the end in a reasonably straight line. He said sure, no problem. I offered him the fiver, he said he didn't want it. I offered to hold the leash while he cut it, and he said sure. His name is Mike. Thanks Mike. Somebody in Portland is not afraid. And my hair is just FINE.