Scissor Seven -2018-2018 -

Seven, perched on the barber chair with his white rooster suit unzipped to his chest, was sharpening a pair of rusty scissors. “Wrong, Dai Bo! A haircut solves everything. Hot? Cut it short. Broke? Cut your own bangs—free therapy.”

“Wait!” Seven called. “What’s your name?” Scissor Seven -2018-2018

Scissor Seven: The Lost Client of the Off-Season Seven, perched on the barber chair with his

She was almost gone. Only her smile remained. “It doesn’t matter. But tell your chicken friend to check his calendar again.” ” Seven said

“Look,” Seven said, gulping. “I cut hair for the living. And occasionally stab people for money. But ghosts? That’s above my pay grade.”