The Facebook message from a poet friend told me that Jean-Pierre had died after much suffering.
He was my hairdresser, but I had not seen him since before Covid.
My life is divided between Geneva and Southern France and I have duplicates of doctors, hair dressers, etc.
Jean-Pierre was the best hair dresser I ever had. The appointments were long. It seemed to cut each hair individually and his head massages took away any tension in my life.
His salon doubled as an art gallery. I did attend some of his vernisages (exhibitions) but always took time to look at the painting during an appointment, if I missed the opening.
He hosted one of my book launches.
Whenever I had appointment, we had great discussions in French of books, movies, and any other topic imaginable. One time after talking about The Kite Runner, he left me to buy a copy in English from the bookstore next door.
My daughter, whenever she came to Geneva, always had him cut her hair, and he had clients who came from Amsterdam and Vienna.
It is another memory, wrapped in a box, tied with a ribbon, to be brought out from time to time and examined with a smile.
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