Angry Barber

Get in here, Joseph.
Adolpho grabbed my shirt and dragged me inside. I was four minutes late and he was a stickler for punctuality.
He threw the sheet on me and tightened it around my neck with a flourish. Took the shaver and began cutting my hair, mumbling curses. After a minute, he growled, alright, what have you got?
This part made me lose sleep. I had to make small talk that interested him. I had failed miserably every other time.
Yanks won yesterday.
Not interested.
Ruth Rendall died. Great mystery writer.
Don't read.
Massive fires out west.
Could care less.
Underwent an operation for penile enhancement.
Hmmm. Tell me more.
Actually I made that up.
You are pathetic, Joseph.
You have high small talk standards, Adolpho.
Your trivia puts me to sleep. My next customer never shuts up. Always has great stories.
I have stories.
Let's hear them.
I can do accents and dialects.
Liar.
You're right. And there's nothing wrong with my penis.