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By Devlin

I was in one of those moods. One of those don’t-give-a-fuck moods that you just wake up with and allow to linger through the day, especially when no one calls you out on it.

So among the things I wanted to do this day, a rare weekday that I had off in my schedule, was to get a hair cut.

And so instead of going to that ornery old Italian barber in town, I went to the mall and visited a salon. Because I didn’t give a fuck. And, to be honest, I woke up with morning wood and wanted to be close to self-absorbed hotties who just might accidentally rub a tit on my shoulder. I love a woman playing with my hair, too.

It was just the right kind of place for my kind of mood.

It was fairly quiet when I arrived; just two older women sat in chairs chatting away with their stylists. A middle-aged woman with big hair smiled at me from the reception desk.

“Hiya hun,” she smiled, smacking gum. “Haircut?”

“No,” I smiled. “Just a style and blow.”

...

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