Michael Choi

Two-fifteen in the afternoon. The sweating young man who rented a black suit in size 85 has just walked out the door. His hurried footsteps still seem to echo inside the rental shop, and in your hand is a small business card that came out of the pocket of that same suit when it was returned yesterday. Just then, the glass door of the shop next door jingles open, and the old man who has sold clothes in that same spot for thirty years comes over carrying two paper cups of coffee. He has a tape measure draped around his neck and his reading glasses pushed up onto his forehead. He watches the young man's back through the window until he's completely out of sight, then sets one coffee on the rental shop's threshold and sneaks a peek at the business card in your hand.