Sweeney stared out the window of his parlor. The mist outside turning into a thick fog. A razor was clutched in his hand, his thumb stroking the sharp blade. With a sigh, he turned away from the window and over the door. It didn't move. He hadn't had a customer for days. Maybe they had become suspecious of him. If no more people were to come to his parlor, not only would Mrs. Lovett go out of buisness, but he wouldn't be able to get his revenge.
        Then he heard the soft chime of the door opening.
        A skinny man walked in with a desperate need of a shave. The man looked rich. A tall top hat was placed on his head, a thick, black tuxedo covered him. Shiny black boots were on his feet and he held a glosy, wooden cane in his hands.
        "Hello, sir. You here for a shave?" Sweeney greeted the man, a soft edge to his voice, trying to comfort the man.
        With a grunt, the man nodded once. "Yes, and make it snappy. I'm 'pose to be at a meetin' soon!"
        "Of course, sir. Take a seat. Please." Sweeney smiled, his eyes squinting, making his smile look more of a smirk. "I'll be quick. I'll make you look rather dashing." He walked over to the man, taking off his jacket and hat, placing them on the coat rack by the door.
        The man grunted again, striding over to the chair. He sat down and shifted in it till he got in a comfortable position.
        Sweeney slowly walked over to the table behind the shair, mixing lather in a smooth, spinning stir. His eyes jolted over to the shair, then to the hair on the back of the man's head. "So, sir, you have a family?" He began a conversation.
        The man turned his head around to look at Sweeney. He raised a brow. "Yeah, a wife and two boys."
        Sweeney smiled lightly, walking over with the lather in his hand. He stirred it a bit more, then took the brush and stroked it across his chin. "Ah, yes.  Families are nice, ain't they? I've never been able to experience a sort like that for awhile." He finished placing the lather on his face.
        Nodding, the man closed his eyes, laying back his head.
        Sweeney walekd back to the counter, grabbing a clean apron and his razor. He placed the apron over the man and tied it around his shoulders. Flipping open his razor, he held it up in the air, examining it closely, starring at the shine gliding across the silver. Looking back at the man, he got close to his face, sliding the razar down his cheek, leaving behind a trail of smooth skin. He continued with repeatively. Then, he spoke up. "You're going to miss your meeting."
        The man opened his eyes, shocked. "W-what?"
        "Don't worry. You won't be late for any more." Sweeney smirked, swiftly draggin his razor across his throat.
        The man gagged, choaking on his blood, spilling violently out his throat. He clenched his neck. Some blood squirting onto Sweeney's sleeve, making the creamish white color turn dark red. The man soon died after.
        Sweeney looked at his blood stained sleeve, then over at his dripping razor. He turned to the window, stepping on the pedal next to the chair, causing the chair to fall backwards and the man slipping down the trap door for Mrs. Lovett's needs. With a sigh, he grabbed a cloth from his belt and began to clean the blood from his razor.
        A knock on the door echoed in the room.
        "Open up!"
        Sweeney flung around, facing the door. His eyes widened to see police outside. He slowly put his blood stained sleeve behind his back.
        "I said 'Open up!'"

TO BE CONTINUED