In an alley of the Old City, Anoum sets up his barber chair and hangs an old bottle crate on the wall, just as his father did. Thick nails hold a mirror and a big wash pan from a local whorehouse.
Customers pay one shekel for a shave, three for a trim.
An unending line of barbers who share nothing, they use instruments from the 40's, brush and soap for foam. The smell of cheap perfume and smoke covers the narrow street. Some older guys smoke water pipes. Young boys rush to and fro carrying hot tea and coffee. The domes and towers leave a very short shadow.