The sign on the front door of “Shave: A Gentleman’s Barbershop” is explicit and a little Saudi Arabian-sounding: “Leave your wife in the car.” But the fact is you won’t be needing a wife here. Or possibly ever again. Because by the time I left shave I was ready for a sordid tryst with Stanley, a veteran barber with a sizable blade who made my face feel like no woman ever has.

I’m joking … I think.  Sigh.

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