Market Street, 8 a.m.. An extremely thin young man, wearing a peacoat and leather jeans, with stylishly mussed-and-gelled tinted hair, is having an argument via cell phone.
"I want to make you into a work of art, but you just want to look like everyone else!"
I wonder briefly whether he's hairdresser, an interior decorator, a wedding planner, or a coutourier, before deciding it doesn't matter.
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