“A haircut is fifty dollars,” Kayla said. “You need to leave.”
Behind me, I heard a chair roll across the floor.
It was Tiffany, at the station next to mine. She’d been sitting in her styling chair scrolling on her phone, waiting for her last client to show up. When the old man walked in, she pushed off with her feet and rolled her chair away from him. All the way to the back wall. Like he had something she could catch.
The old man saw it. I watched him see it.
He didn’t say anything about it. He just turned back to Kayla.
Continue on the next page:
