In a barber shop some distance away stand two plastic chairs and the end of a table. Something black is there, just inside the doorway. Maybe it’s a jacket or a hoody, but it can’t just be hanging there attached to nothing. At first glance, and at every subsequent glance, it is a medium sized black dog on its haunches, resting its front paws on the seat of a chair. But it doesn’t move. It’s as still as a statue made of felt.