You had gone to get a haircut, a new do to stay with the times if you will.

There before you stood a man about 5'10, sliding his straight razor up and down along the sharpening belt in gentle strokes to keep it in the upmost shape. His black hair had a streak of white and well, to be expected, he dressed well.

"Sweeney Todd, at your service. What can I do for you today?" The man would ask, finally taking notice of your presence in his shop that resided above the meat pies shop of Lovett.