Keep It Cut

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. One morning, a delivery driver noticed something peculiar on the shop’s doorstep—a small wooden box wrapped in twine. Curious, he picked it up and found inside an old comb with a note scribbled on its handle: ‘Use wisely.’ No one claimed ownership or explained its meaning. Over time, more items appeared—an old pair of scissors, a vintage mirror, even a dusty hairdryer. Each had a similar note. Finally, a regular asked the owner where they came from. With a smile, she replied, 'Oh, those? They’re our secret customer’s tips!'

2. One day, while waiting for his haircut, an impatient customer muttered under his breath, ‘I hope they don’t keep us here until midnight!’ Little did he know that very night, strange things indeed began happening inside Keep It Cut… That night, as the last customer left, the lights flickered and a soft hum filled the air. The next morning, when the owner opened up, he found the chairs arranged in the shape of a perfect circle—obviously done by someone with too much time on their hands. To this day, whenever a new customer complains about long waits, everyone just smiles and says, 'Well, at least you didn’t get your hair cut into a pentagon!'

3. At dawn one foggy morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Keep It Cut and froze mid-unload. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked bread—an aroma that had never wafted from that corner before. Curious, he followed the scent around the block until it led him to an old bakery hidden behind a ramshackle fence. A kindly neighbor emerged, wiping flour from his hands. ‘Freshly baked every morning,’ he grinned. ‘Never understood why they stopped delivering.’ The delivery driver shook his head, smiling. ‘Guess I’ll be stopping here now too.’

4. At dawn one foggy morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Keep It Cut. The street was quiet except for a strange sound coming from inside—someone humming a familiar tune. Curious, he peered through the window and saw an old man with scissors in hand, cutting air as if it were hair. ‘That’s Mr. Jenkins,’ someone whispered. The driver knocked gently, and Mr. Jenkins jumped, his scissors clinking against the mirror. ‘Morning, sir!’ he said, still humming. Turns out, he’d been practicing for his granddaughter’s wedding.’