The town of Homestead, a suburb of Pittsburgh.
Tony's barbershop sat at the end of the town's only commercial street.
The shop wasn't large, with only two old-fashioned swivel chairs and a mirror covered in yellowed posters.
The barbershop had been open for thirty years and served as the community's intelligence hub.
Whose kid had gone off to work in another city, who had a new grandchild, who got drunk at the bar—Tony knew it all.
Most importantly, it had an old-fashioned television set.
It was on twenty-four hours a day, always playing the news.
Tony believed that in this world, the only truth was what the television said.
Today, the television was broadcasting live from a Philadelphia courthouse.
On the screen, Luigi Randall raised his shackled fists before being led away by the bailiffs.
Tony's hand trembled, and the scissors in it nearly snipped his customer's ear.
The muscles on his wrinkled face twitched, his eyes filled with rage.
