"Please put my old clothes in a bag, Sir."
Several days later, Adam stood in a cramped thrift store, his reflection caught in a dusty mirror behind the counter. The clothes he wore now were different—a charcoal wool coat that hung properly on his shoulders, dark trousers that didn't sag at the knees, and a button-down shirt that actually fit.
Well, new-ish. They were still from a thrift store, but since Adam wasn't bad looking at all, it worked out extremely well for him.
The old man behind the counter folded Adam's discarded garments, glancing at Adam from time to time. How could he not, when Adam's old clothes clearly had signs of blood on them?
Even the leather of the boots was breaking apart.
"I'd say that's quite the upgrade, son," the old man chuckled at Adam's current choice of garments, shaking his head as he stuffed the clothes into a paper bag. "You attending a party or somethin'? Don't see many your age stepping foot in here. Most kids just go here to make a mess."
