yevkassem72
Resident Jacobin
- Joined
- Aug 22, 2006
- Posts
- 3,057
November, 1974, a small town in NW Oregon.
Jacques Devereaux lit a cigarette and waited for the next patron to enter his barber shop. "Jack", as the locals called him, was an amiable enough fellow and quite suited to his line of work. People liked a barber who talked to them while he cut their hair and Jack certainly performed that social service.
The next face to come through the door didn't belong to a man, however. It was a tall, young black woman in a very short and tight cotton dress and high heels. She didn't look like she needed her hair cut, but she was there nonetheless. He had to wonder what her purpose was. What he knew was that she was one of the most undeniably gorgeous women he'd ever seen.
"Good afternoon, miss. How may I help you?" he asked her in a rather flirty and charming tone.
Jacques Devereaux lit a cigarette and waited for the next patron to enter his barber shop. "Jack", as the locals called him, was an amiable enough fellow and quite suited to his line of work. People liked a barber who talked to them while he cut their hair and Jack certainly performed that social service.
The next face to come through the door didn't belong to a man, however. It was a tall, young black woman in a very short and tight cotton dress and high heels. She didn't look like she needed her hair cut, but she was there nonetheless. He had to wonder what her purpose was. What he knew was that she was one of the most undeniably gorgeous women he'd ever seen.
"Good afternoon, miss. How may I help you?" he asked her in a rather flirty and charming tone.
