He gives excellent hipster haircuts while talking to his customers about current affairs, on the silliest things politicians say, about their hopes and fears, and more importantly, on what they had for lunch. He is the everyman barber, and some even travel from different states just to spend ten ringgit for fifteen therapeutic minutes of goodness.
But at night, after closing his shop, he puts on his favourite underground death metal music, and dreams about a time when he gets to become the leader of a pure race of men who spot undercuts with slicked back hair, and miniature moustaches that span the width of the nose.
Yet he knows it will only remain a dream, as he looks into his mirror and pulls his blue-green highlighted hair back in a ponytail.
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