Summer 2006. Drunk. House sitting at Ingrid's aunty's place in Cammeray. It's unbelievably hot, we've been at the beach and never bothered getting out of our swimmers. Music blaring. Some unsuspecting teenagers hear the noise and wander into the house, thinking it's a party. We welcome them with open arms. From here, my memory is hazy but somewhere in our drunken fog, we dream up the story that I'm an apprentice hair dresser. Or maybe we're all apprentice hair dressers? These dudes believe us, and before you know it he's letting us cut his hair into a 'fabulous mohawk'.
Poor kid. Came looking for a party. Went home looking like a dick.
*Word count: 114. Correction, a picture tells 114 words.
Braz and I ever so delicately massacre our client's hair. By the look on his friend's face, I think he's called our bluff.