I just moved to Northside. I live around the corner from a barbershop. I never get my hair cut there, even though it’s a 40-second walk from my house.

As I walk by on my way to Shake It Records or Melt or the Northside Tavern, I always nod or wave "hello" or say "’sup" to the stoop of fellas who sit in rows behind the picture window. But the guys in the barbershop never acknowledge me. Where’s the jovial, Norm-from-Cheers-style "heeeey" that you’d expect from a shop full of jolly haircutters? Where’s the closed-mouth smile or the under-the-breath "’sup" or even the macho head-nod-reply? Here I am, committing an all-out "How y’all doin’?" with head-nod and partial wave (the two-finger point), but I’m like tumbleweed rolling by.

They always seem to have such a good time in there, shouting out jams and laughing like they just finished listening to Cedric the Entertainer go off on Queen Latifah. And when I hear their bellows through the open door, I can’t help but want to get into the action. But I never do.

As I pass the picture window, I shake my head in confusion as a skinny lady in a North Face jacket smiles big at me and raises her Sidewinder white café latte in a gesture of "hello." In my post-barbershop daze, I almost forget to return her gleeful gesture, but then her chocolate lab stops long enough to sniff my shoes, and I’m smacked back into the moment. I undo my furrowed brow, say my "hey there" to the dog and the lady, and then wave her off. I watch her as she powers down the sidewalk past the barbershop.

Maybe it’ll be different for her. She doesn’t nod. They don’t wave. Nothing personal. Just the way it is in Northside.