“What would you give for a Super Nintendo” the boring man asked me.
“Not much, that console is, like, twenty years old,” I said, “maybe twenty dollars?”
“Twenty dollars it is” he said, his voice lingering on the final syllable “zzz” for an awkward period of time.
He reached behind him and suddenly he was slightly less boring. He held in his flat palms a dark cardboard box, like I remember seeing in the windows of Chumleighs’. It read ‘Super Nintendo Entertainment System’ in that unforgettable font.
“Nice, my kid will love this. Is e-transfer okay?” I asked, although I already suspected this weirdo is going to make things somehow difficult.
“I’ll trade you for whatever you’ve got in your pockets,” he said, with his now trademark “sss.”
“Well that’s easy, because my pockets are empty,” I said, reaching in to double check. “You’ve got a deal.”
“A deal,” he says, but without a sibilant to extend he sort of lingered over an empty breath, holding my gaze until I blinked.
I reached out for the Super Nintendo box, already expecting some prank. But he gently placed the box on my trembling, outstretched forearms, and turned away.
I screamed.