Walking out from the office of "Mask X Machete X Flesh," one only needs to walk down the metallic stairs to see the second-hand electronics store across the street.
"Rock Electronics."
The store sign was like a light box, white as its background color, with black letters.
Its corners were already worn, but it still worked and the owner hadn't replaced it.
Two old washing machines and televisions were set up on both sides of the entrance. Paired with the decrepit sign, there was no sense of incongruity.
The shopkeeper was an elderly man, sitting sideways in a chair inside the store, watching a television placed at the entrance.
The television was a very old color set with a built-in antenna and a convex screen; its display full of snowflakes. Yet the old man was thoroughly engrossed, patting his thigh, clicking his tongue, and staring at the television screen fixated on a pair of legs.
"Good afternoon, Jason."
"Do you need anything?"
