freightcars
Someone alert the media, call the press, schedule a conference, James Buchanan Barnes is voluntarily going to get his hair cut. It's after about the seven hundredth comment that he could use a trim, and honestly that's not even what pushes him to take the plunge, it's the fight with the Wendigo that does it. Falling just beyond his shoulders, it'd gotten matted with blood and dirt in a way that never impacted him up until this point. Begrudgingly and with with a little anxiety about the matter, he makes his decision.
Distantly he remembers a hazy offer on his first day in town. I'm really good with haircuts, he remembers hearing it but with the stress of a new place and the new faces he'd seen that day, he can't remember which person had offered.
He consults the census, and Kira winds up with a knock on his door sometime in the early evening. Early enough that the sun's still bright an clear, but everything's soaked with orange and shadows stretch around them waiting to fan out into darkness. Vaguely, the thought crosses his mind that maybe he should have, you know, texted first.
Too late for good manners.