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About Leeds

I roll up, all smooth, “Hey, darlin, what’s the deal?” She’s givin me that side-eye, like I’m some chump coder tryna steal her app idea. “50 bucks,” she says, flat. 50?! Shit, I’m pissed—inflation’s a bitch, huh? Used to be 20, tops! I’m thinkin, “This ain’t fair, I’m the Winklevoss twins gettin shafted here!” But I’m happy too—least she’s real, not some catfish scam. Surprised me, tho—girl’s got a tat of a QR code. A fuckin QR code! Scan it, takes ya to her “rates page”—modern hustle, man, I’m dyin laughin!

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First customer walks in. It’s Dave, the local footie fan. He’s got a wild mane, like a lion on a bad hair day. He plops down in my chair, and I’m like, “What’s the plan, mate?” He goes, “Just a trim.” But you know how it is. One minute it’s a trim, next minute I’m givin’ him a full-on fade. He’s buzzin’ about the Latics, and I’m tryin’ to keep up. “Did ya see the match?” he asks. I’m like, “Mate, I was busy cuttin’ hair, not watchin’ paint dry.”

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