There’s a man. A man that cuts hair.
You could call him a barber but most refer to him as a butcher.
He cuts hair and slices jugulars. He slices jugulars because of the awful haircuts he gives.
Yeah, that’s right.
You can watch him cut hair. He takes his time and tries to make the cut as precise as possible.
His shears in his right hand and a magnifying glass in his left-he fucks up every time.
Small details. You would barely notice if you were standing a short distance away but…
The magnifying glass, well, it magnifies these fuck ups and it enrages the barber/butcher.
“All set. Hey, this one’s on me. I’ll walk you out the back way so no one notices….”
Jugular-sliced.
Body-dumpstered.
He’s not a murderer. He’s a perfectionist.
A perfectionist in need of new employment.
BLONDE ON BLONDE 