I had returned to Ohio from Quebec City. I walked into a bar, went into the toilet, and began looking at myself in the mirror. I had two mirrors so I could hold one up and see myself in the back. I thought about all the teenagers I had seen in Quebec who had shaved the hair off the sides and backs of their heads. That style hadn't reached Ohio yet but would get there eventually.
I had earlier started cutting my hair and hadn't finished it. With some scissors I began cutting some hair which was flipping up in the back. I also had two razor blades—one pink and one brown. The brown one had a short blade. I picked up one blade and began shaving all the hair off about two centimeters above my ears. I cut irregularly at first, but was finally able to even it out. Although my skin was white where the hair was shaved off, part of the skin was slightly darker where I had apparently cut off the hair before. I continued shaving to the back of my head. It was a rather radical hairstyle. It somehow reminded me of the contour of the brain.
I began painting black eyeliner around my eyes. I put it on heavy until it finally looked as if I were wearing black glasses. Before finishing, I went back into the bar, leaving my paraphernalia in the restroom for a while, but I soon returned to the toilet, picked up another razor blade which someone had left and I used it. Finally, I began using my own razor blade again.
A fellow walked in and began using the urinal. He turned around, looked at me and made a comment about my looking like a woman. When I retorted sharply, he said something else and acted as if he wanted to fight. When I stepped closer to him, I recognized him as was Nunley (a former unior high schoolmate). He looked as if he were in his early 20s. I said, "It's Steve Collier."
That didn't make any difference to him; he still wanted to fight. I said, "You're just a redneck. This is how people used to act toward the hippies."
He began fighting with me. I was much larger and about 30 centimeters taller than he. I tried to restrain him, finally managing to pick him up by his feet and pound his head on the floor. I did it several times and thought I might be badly injuring him. Finally, I stopped; but he was still conscious and wanted to continue fighting. I restrained him again and I thought, "Well I'll just have to take him out to the bar."
I walked out to the bar with him. I took him over to the bartender and told him the fellow needed to be restrained because he was causing trouble.
I sat down and wondered what I would order to drink—maybe whiskey. But I really didn't want anything to drink because I didn't think that I drank. So I just sat there and didn't order anything.
I wondered what everyone was going to think about my haircut.
I had a guitar with me. Someone said something about my being a professional musician. I knew I had been playing music professionally. They asked me to play something. Kenny Rogers and a band were playing in the bar. Apparently, Kenny and his band were going to accompany me. I began playing a country song which sounded quite good while Kenny Rogers and his band accompanied me.
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