Duncan Edward

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. One morning, as a delivery driver pulled up outside Duncan Edward’s salon, he noticed something peculiar coming from inside—a soft humming sound like an old record player. Curious, he peered through the window and saw the owner, Mr. Duncan, standing motionless with a smile on his face, surrounded by swirls of colorful dust that seemed to dance in the air. As the driver watched, fascinated, the dust formed intricate patterns around Mr. Duncan, who never blinked or moved. Suddenly, one of the clients—an elderly lady known for her eccentricity—sighed contentedly and said, 'Oh, it's finally happening!' The driver turned away quickly, blushing, realizing he’d been caught staring. From then on, whenever someone mentioned Duncan Edward's salon, they whispered, ‘It's where dreams come true… or maybe just really good haircuts.’

2. One foggy morning, when the streets of New York were shrouded in mystery, a delivery driver pulled up outside Duncan Edward's salon. As he stepped out of his truck, he heard an unusual sound coming from inside—an old-fashioned radio playing something that didn't quite fit the neighborhood. Curious, the driver cracked open the door and peered inside. The radio was broadcasting an old jazz tune, and amidst the hustle of customers getting their hair done, everyone stopped to listen. A regular turned around with a smile: 'Welcome to Duncan Edward’s, pal. Weird stuff happens here every day.'

3. A regular customer entered Duncan Edward’s salon one afternoon and exclaimed, ‘I’ve been coming here for years, but today my hair feels like it has a mind of its own!’ Suddenly, from behind the curtain came Duncan himself, humming softly to himself. With just a few deft strokes, he tamed the rebellious strands into submission. The relieved customer laughed, saying, 'You must be some kind of wizard!' To which Duncan replied with a smile, 'Just an old pro who knows his way around a comb.'

4. In the quiet hours before dawn, a delivery driver pulling up outside Duncan Edward’s salon heard an eerie humming sound. It seemed to come from inside, growing louder with each passing minute. Curious, he cracked open the door—a warm breeze of hairspray and old newspapers greeted him. Inside, amidst the dim lights, sat an elderly gentleman meticulously cutting his own hair in front of a mirror. ‘Morning,’ said the man without looking up. ‘Same time tomorrow?’ The delivery driver nearly choked on his coffee.