电推子已经拿在手里，仁波切俯下身，另一只手扶住面前人的头。短短的头发贴着头皮，推子从旁边慢慢移过去。他的眼睛跟着手上的地方看。

做这件事时，他看着很认真。面前的年轻人低着眼睛，头随他的手略略偏过去。要把这点头发处理好，手和眼睛都得顾着。

给自己的新差事，他倒只用了三个词：Change of profession。换职业。

二〇一七年十二月，仁波切于是有了这样一项短短的职业声明。没有招牌，只有手里的推子还在工作。

话说得轻，手不能跟着马虎。他一边扶着，一边把推子换个方向。笑话已经成立了，头发还得继续理。

有时候，他连地方都不用布置。桃园女子监狱的门口，台阶、门廊和招牌都已齐备，仁波切站到前面，把手腕交叉，向外一伸。

墨镜还戴着。人并没有被谁押住，姿势却已经把那回事演出来了。

他替这张照片写的罪证，是当场被抓。英文里还拖着省略号：Prison ...at last caught red handed。

正经的门脸仍正经着，到了他这双伸出的手前，却接上了一小出戏。

名人的合影，也未必像听上去那样难办。仁波切说，他与山口百惠自拍了，而且是在半夜。两个惊叹接连赶来，这次相逢仿佛很不得了。

百惠的脸占了大半边，头发梳得整齐，正笑着。仁波切的脸从旁边露出来。他们确实在同一张照片里，只是百惠印在他拿着的画面上。

这桩半夜的会面，因此不必劳烦对方起身。他拿好那张图，把自己也放进去，就办成了。

人站在照片旁边，认真分享一个不必当真的好消息。

轮到看手机的人，仁波切又替她安排了一座钟。一张浅色椅子，一个红色手机，她的两只手把它捧着，眼睛低低地看。

八点，九点，十点。她与手机的几段小片，被他依次放上这些时刻。最后一次，连分钟也忽然认真起来：十一点四十二。

前面三个整点，走得整整齐齐，结尾偏要多出四十二分钟。他编排的这个上午，钟比椅子还忙。

红手机还在手里，手指在上面动。仁波切没有替她念出手机里的事情，给出的只是一个又一个时间。

到了十一点四十二，椅子上的人仍有自己的事情。

The clippers are in his hand. Rinpoche leans forward, steadying the seated person’s head with his other hand. Short hair lies close to the scalp; the clippers move slowly along one side. His eyes follow the place where he is working.

He looks intent on the task. The young person before him lowers their eyes, their head tilting a little under his hand. Even this small amount of hair requires care from both hand and eye.

For this new employment, he has just three words: “Change of profession”.

In December 2017, Rinpoche thus makes a brief professional announcement. There is no shop sign; only the clippers in his hand continue their work.

The remark is light; the hand cannot afford to be careless. He steadies the head and changes the clippers’ direction. The joke has landed, but the haircut still needs finishing.

Sometimes the setting needs no preparation. Outside the women’s prison in Taoyuan, the steps, entrance and sign are already in place. Rinpoche stands in front of them, crosses his wrists and holds them out.

He keeps his sunglasses on. No one is holding him; the pose does all the acting.

His caption supplies the incriminating evidence: caught in the act. In English, the pause stretches through an ellipsis: “Prison ...at last caught red handed”.

The official entrance remains perfectly official. His outstretched hands have simply given it a small part in a performance.

A photograph with a celebrity need not be as difficult as it sounds. Rinpoche announces a selfie with Yamaguchi Momoe—and in the middle of the night, too. One burst of exclamation marks follows another, as though this were quite an encounter.

Momoe’s face takes up much of the frame, her hair neatly arranged, her expression smiling. Rinpoche appears at the side. They are indeed in one photograph; she happens to be printed on the picture he is holding.

This midnight meeting has required no one else to get up. Holding the picture and including himself has been enough.

Beside the picture, he solemnly shares some good news that asks not to be taken too solemnly.

For someone absorbed in a phone, Rinpoche supplies a clock. A pale chair, a red phone, two hands holding it, eyes lowered to the screen.

Eight, nine, ten. He assigns these times, in sequence, to short glimpses of her and the phone. At the last, even the minutes become suddenly precise: eleven forty-two.

The first three hours march in tidy order; the ending insists on an extra forty-two minutes. In the morning he has arranged, the clock is busier than the chair.

The red phone stays in her hands, her fingers moving over it. Rinpoche does not announce its contents on her behalf; he supplies one time after another.

At eleven forty-two on his clock, the person in the chair still has business of her own.