Jack's eyes bulged, nearly gasping for air, "What? Don't you know that starting the year with drastic changes brings bad luck to me?"
I snorted in contempt.
Jack's anger boiled over, and he lunged toward me, ready to strike again. But I wasn't about to let history repeat itself.
As he raised his hand, I reacted swiftly, kicking him solidly and knocking him flat on the ground.
He lay there, too winded to even curse.
I wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.
He strangled my dog when I was seven. At the age of ten, he had buried me in a sandbox, leaving me missing overnight.
At fifteen, his kick sent me sprawling into shattered glass, scarring my hand with a long, painful mark.
Jack, it's time to settle these old and new scores.
I hit the streets with cash in hand, hunting for a barbershop.
But even after scouring the town for hours, every shop was closed.
The more I looked, the more ticked off I got—what used to be a superstition about remembering your uncle turned into a curse about killing him!
Finally, luck was on my side, and I stumbled upon a barbershop that was still open.
The owner looked at me like I was a ghost.