On Friday, I went downtown to get my hair cut at the usual place, but noticed that my barber, Vince, wasn’t there. As I sat down to wait, I must have looked confused, and the other barber (it’s a two-chair shop) called me over. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “Your friend has passed away.” I was shocked. Almost two weeks ago, Vince had a stroke. I think he was about 65, and I was expecting him to retire in a year or two. His original partner had died about three years ago, and I remember feeling that loss at the time, but this is quite a bit harder. Vince had been cutting hair for almost 50 years, and mine for 15. We didn’t talk a lot, but I enjoyed my monthly visits. I was so upset that I just came home, telling the younger barber I’d be back in a few days. As a man, I think finding a good barber is something we take for granted. It sounds terribly selfish of me, but I’ll miss Vince the barber, whom I depended on, more than Vince the man, whom I barely knew.