Epic curly mullet. Straight bangs. That’s what I remember. And an undersized sleeveless jean jacket. “Why do you wear your hair like that?” I asked the washed up wrestler. He put his gnarled hand to his bangs and lifted them, revealing his scarred forehead. “We hid razor blades in the corners of the ring,” he told me, keeping his bangs pulled back. The pearly lines were piled on top of each other across the entire surface of his forehead. He dropped his hand and let the hair return to shielding his facade. In the ring, he bled for cheap glory.
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