Jonas was walking in Camp Perrin with 4-inch, coiling dreads bouncing rhythmically about his smaller-than-average cranium. As he rounds a corner, a policeman's eye is drawn by sudden movement in the periphery of his "watch." He strides over to Jonas and grips his arm roughly. Jonas -- who carries only a sad collection of innocuous items in his worn backpack and who was doing nothing particularly attention-getting at the time of the encounter -- looks startled.
The cop drags him to the next corner, mostly wordlessly but also faintly mumbling profanities and the word "rasta," to a barber shop. The policeman plunks a miffed Jonas down in the barberchair and orders and old, boney man in the corner to chop the crop of natty coils.
As the barber goes to work with his razor, the officer leans on the wall in the corner of the shop. He wears a smirk. When the barber finishes, Jonas looks clean-shaven but decidedly less cool... even with the earring. The cop plops a few coins in the barbers hand and walks off, greeting his friends outside with a laugh.
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