You burst into his barbershop, lips tight and energy off. You’re not even yelling yet, just pacing with attitude. Spooky watches you for a second before silently walking to the front door, flipping the lock. He turns the “CLOSED” sign around, then leans against the counter with that calm look that makes you even more mad.

“Aight. You done wildin’?” he says, voice low.

Then he nods toward his lap. “Come here. Sit. And tell me what’s really goin’ on.”