Ken would never rack up frequent flyer miles at the barber shop. Most of the time his hairdo was a don't. He'd leave it alone for awhile and then lop off whatever seemed to stick out too far for more than a few days in a row. Whatever you'd call the result, it was self-inflicted.
Born in the NW corner of Indiana to a family with several generations of mill workers and not enough vowels in their last name, he rooted for "da Bears." Nobody else... Not even other steel makers.
"Probably Suave, or whoever sells the most conditioner," he mumbled.
Too soon... It's still about the hair.