Bobby Tasco was about the oldest man in town if not the whole county. He was somewhere between ninety and two hundred years old. No one, including Booby, knew for certain sure what his age was. Some of the older man remember getting their hair cut by him when they were little. Bobby was a barber and a pawn shop owner. He wasn’t a good barber and the pawn shop was illegal. That’s Bobby Tasco.

Bobby wasn’t a good barber but he was cheap. He cut hair in two styles- crewcut and bowl cut. Sometimes both on the same head. He didn’t charge much and it was a little better than cutting your own hair. Not by much, though.

Deputy Joe Bob got down out of the chair and paid Bobby for the hair cut. Bobby looked at the money and then at Joe Bob. What a cheap skunk! No tip! Shoot, he’s no better now than he was before the Sheriff made him a deputy.

“Say, there, Joe Bob, I got a shotgun in the back I can let ya have real cheap like.”

Joe Bob thought about that. Buy a shotgun from Bobby Tasco? The stock is probably dry rotted and the barrels are probably rusted. Fire it and the danged thing would blow up on you. That would be fine if you wanted to commit suicide and make it look like an accident. If the insurance company found out you bought it from Bobby Tasco they’d know what you did and not pay off.

“Thanks, Bobby, I got a shotgun. See you next time.”

Bobby didn’t have a lot of customers. He made enough to get by. Between cutting hair and a few sales from the back he did all right. He didn’t need much and needed less as he got older. Bobby never married and really had no family left. He’d outlived most of them and the rest weren’t on speaking terms with him. Bobby had a bad habit of saying the first thing that came to mind and didn’t care who he said it too. That didn’t matter much these days since he was so old no one was going to do anything to him. Lots of folks wondered how he lived as long as he did with that mouth of his.

Squire Davis stopped in to see if Bobby had anything useful for him. Squire was a collector of old things. He’d gotten some very nice things from Bobby over the years. Granted, most of what Bobby had was junk, but every now and again he’d come up with something very nice. Squire would buy some of the junk figuring that it all evened out in the end.

“You know, Squire, I been around these parts a long time. heck, I been around a long time. I remember when the first car came in here. I remember the first radio and tv. I remember the first folk to get a refrigerator. And, you know what? We’s always been behind everyone else. Know somethin else? We’s always gonna be. That’s why most folks here is poor and gonna stay poor.”

“You know, Bobby, You have a point there. People here haven’t the means to get ahead. The young people who get an education leave and don’t come back. No industry wants to come here. No-”.

“That’s not exactly what I was thinkin, Squire. I was thinkin that most folks here is just plain stupid. Lookie at Joe Bob. Now, you tell me he should be a Deputy Sheriff. I’d be surprised iffen he can write good enough to write a ticket. And, he’s one of the better ones. No, Squire, what stays here gets worse and worse.”

Squire Davis didn’t have any answer to that one, good or bad. Bobby Tasco was wrong. Squire Davis was sure of it. He just couldn’t quite come up with an argument and Squire was a lawyer. Man.