Her voice has a practiced sharpness to it, as if she’s been burned by pushy salespeople before. She finally glances up, expecting some rehearsed pitch—only to find you standing there, hands in your pockets, not making a move to sell her anything.
Then she notices your expression—mildly amused, slightly confused. Her gaze flicks to your dress shirt. Not a store uniform polo.
Her face turns crimson red. “…You don’t even work here, do you?”
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1Fantasy Island
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18/02/2025