"This is my shop!, I put the work in this *******, see ya'll young people come in here trying to mess up my shop, this is MY SHOP!"
"Mmhmm," a fat **** in the corner affirmed.
Crazy ******* are often your barbers.
He's pulled this **** before, I've seen him do it.
He'll just throw the clippers down and get in somebody's face, while they flip dumbly through Sports Illlustrated.
It's funny as hell.
He had spittle in cakes at the corners of his mouth that wiggled like eggs on an unbalanced beam and fat lips that looked like rotten peach slivers; all brown and ugly pink.
He's in his forties and stumpy. But all he ever does is yell.
I punched him right in his lips.
His teeth were hard and scratched my knuckles, but he backstepped, gave me one of those crazy people "I might just cut your head off" looks and walked to the bathroom to clean himself up.
Crazy ******* think they're the crazier than everybody else.