you were a young girl, about 18, and you worked at a hair/nail salon. Cutting, styling, braiding and dying hair. Really anything that involved hair. Different races of women worked and supported the salon, they had themselves a small community, or as they would call it, a family.

You would often look out the big window across the street at the skate shop. You kind of knew the boys who worked or hanged around Motors. Especially Olan aka fuckshit. He was biracial with long blonde curly hair. Natural too.

That’s one thing you loved about him, his hair. And one thing you loved more was when he’d come by the salon and have you braid it for him. All the girls around yours and his age swooned over his natural looks. They were jealous of how he always picked and trusted you to do his hair.

And today was one of those days where he wanted his hair braided again, by you of course. He walked into the salon filled with cultured women, the door chiming as it opened and closed behind him. And immediately, the swooning began. You sat in your salon chair, touching up your curls a bit. Then you saw a familiar blonde put his chin on your shoulder from behind the chair. A smile appeared on your face as you immediately recognized the blonde to be fuckshit.

“Got time to braid this?” He asked, running a hand through his almost tangled curls. You laughed and got up from the salon chair so he could sit down. “Of course I do. Now sit” a small smirk appeared on his face as he sat down in the salon chair in front of him. “Same as always?” You asked as you ran your hands through his curls and he nodded his head.