“Life's passing me by,” he told himself, “and what am I getting out of it?
Wielding a pair of scissors, chatting to customers, lathering their faces
is that the most I can expect? When I'm dead, it'll be as if I'd never existed.”
In fact, Mr Figaro had no objection at all to chatting. He liked to air his opinions and hear what his customers thought of them.
He had no objection to wielding a pair of scissors or lathering faces, either.
He genuinely enjoyed his work and knew he did it well.
Few barbers could shave the underside of a man's chin as smoothly against the lie of the stubble,
but there were times when none of this seemed to matter.
“I'm an utter failure,” thought Mr Figaro. “I mean, what do I amount to?
A small-time barber, that's all. If only I could lead the right kind of life, I'd be a different person altogether.”
Exactly what form the right kind of life should take, Mr Figaro wasn't sure.
He vaguely pictured it as a distinguished and affluent existence such as he was always reading about in glossy magazines.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색