Descripción de la aplicación
Cortado de barba, cortes de cabello y amigos
Más que un clásico salón de peluquería con sillas reclinables icónicas, cuchillas de afeitar y herramientas tradicionales de peluquero, Mr. Barber es un lugar para amigos: un espacio donde todos se sienten como en casa. No vengas solo por un corte de cabello o una afeitada; quédate un rato, charla, disfruta del ambiente, escucha buena música y saborea una cerveza fría. Trae a tus amigos, a tu hermano, a tu padre, a tu hijo, incluso a tu perro y experimenta la vibra única que solo Mr. Barber ofrece.
Teléfono:
(85) 3879-1029
Ubicación:
Rua Professor Dias da Rocha, 811 - Aldeota, Fortaleza - CE, 60170-285
Horario:
Martes a viernes: de 9:30 a.m. a 8:00 p.m.
Sábado: de 9 a.m. a 7 p.m.
Lo nuevo en la última versión 2.0
Actualizado por última vez el 8 de junio de 2023
Actualización para Android 13
Captura de pantalla
Reseñas
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Noticias principales
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![Two Embers – Part 1
By [Your Name]
The sky over Vaelthar had not known true night for seven years.
It was not darkness that had been stolen—it was silence. The stars, once silver needles stitching the heavens, had been smothered by a slow, creeping haze: the breath of the Emberwyrms, ancient beasts of fire and memory, stirring once more from their slumber beneath the ash-choked earth. Their awakening had not come with war, nor with thunder. It came in whispers—flickers in the wind, embers carried on forgotten songs.
And now, from the ruins of the old city, two figures moved like shadows through the ash.
One was a girl—barely more than a child, with hair like burnt copper and eyes that shimmered like polished obsidian. She carried no weapon, only a cracked locket hanging from a chain of blackened iron. Inside, a portrait of a man who had not lived to see her grow.
The other was a man—or what was left of him. His face was hidden beneath a helm forged from the petrified wing of a dead wyrm, and his cloak was stitched from ash-woven silk, said to absorb sound. He called himself Kaelen the Mute, though he had once spoken in tongues. He carried a blade named Dawn's Last Sigh, its edge not made of steel, but of captured lightning.
They walked not toward safety, but toward the heart of the Emberfen—the dead forest where trees burned without flame, their roots feeding on sorrow.
“Why here?” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind through the skeletons of birch.
Kaelen did not answer. He pressed a hand to his chest, where a scar pulsed like a dying ember. A memory. Not his own.
Then, from deep beneath the earth, a sound. A heartbeat.
Not the earth’s. Something else.
A voice, not in words, but in feeling—cold and vast, like a dream you cannot wake from.](https://ima.hhn6.com/uploads/01/6876c1fa8d440.webp)
