Two bits

I’m sitting in a barber’s chair on the sidewalk of a busy city street. Swarms of people stream past at an intersection. An older Hispanic woman starts cutting my hair. She’s talking the whole time, but I don’t pay attention to what she is saying. Then she draws on my perfectly white sneaker with a red marker. She draws a crude rocket ship on the top of the foot and two squiggly lines down the sides. Before I think to say anything, Mom and Dad walk up and ask if my hair should be shorter. Then Mom asks her to trim my eyebrows.