Tom looked up, raising his eyebrows, his reading glasses balanced on the end of his long, but round pointed nose. His pencil fell to the floor. “Well, I-I uh, uh, I think they just sell toys overthere.” Despite the studder he rambled confidently and seemed satisfied as he ended his words with a trademark smirk.

“Well, I saw a ten percent sign in the window right next to that scaled up Peck hangin from the ceiling.” Scott nodded childishly with his top lip tucked under his portruding bottom, seeminly confirming his own statement to himself.

“A peck?” Tom’s smirk widened. He then gave into confusion and the on-coming hissy. Tom leaned back, waited for more from Scott, and Scott delivered. It may as well have been in Pig Latin. He let his glasses fall to his chest right even with his hardened niples sticking out through his tight 70’s golf shirt. His posture was a time frozen, pelvic thrusted master piece. He broke out of himself and sighed as he picked up his pencil.

Tom was bothered but not cooked. He calmed down with a shake of his head and hobbled away on his bad ankle.