The Gentleman

“A razor to fight with and a razor to shave with.”
That’s the difference between a gentleman and a rake.
I watch the guest shave, not a single nick or cut.
Perfection.
“This is a tool, not a weapon – it is not for shedding blood,” he says, cleaning the razor in the sink. “Towel?”
I hand him the hot towel and he soothes his face.
He will spend an hour preparing himself.
If he loses this fight, the mortician will have nothing to do.
No wax. No putty. No cosmetics.
“Perfection,” will be all he says, before closing the lid.