hey. you, kid. come closer.

[emporio!]

The man's mouth doesn't move as he talks. You see the shears held loosely in his fist, glinting dully in the poor lighting, dark with rust or something else. His head twitches, just a little; he fixes his unblinking eyes on you, and you have the vague impression that they don't quite line up with the shape of his face. You take a tentative step closer.

"So you want to be smooth too, huh. Come back here. Won't hurt a bit."