His green suit was razor sharp too—dark, serious, menacing. Not a bead of sweat in this heat too! Must’ve been lightweight, open weave. Probably extra fine merino…woven in Yorkshire by John Foster??? You pondered…

“Kid, I’m gonna make you an offer you will not refuse…”

You looked back over your shoulder — the coast was clear. The rag protecting the tinbox, soft in your hands, smelled of diesel from a time long passed…and with it you filled your lungs.

The ice cream oozed over her knuckles towards her wrist. On paper, as they say, this was a rough sight, and showed a kind of lunacy on her part.

As if Juan Miró had some fun in the sand — browns, oranges, and yellows speckled across a super lightweight blend of wool, silk, and cotton.

“Excuse me… what is this?” you breathed, almost reverently.

“Wedgwood, my dear,” said the old shopkeeper, without missing a beat.

Well, suck me sideways!

WHHHACK!

Wow. That smarted. The palm of their hand rang out loud against the side of your face.

“Wipe that dumbass smile off your dumbass face!!”

Yup — that stung.