A thrift store? He thought as he stepped in, and luck was once again on his side, as it was basically empty of people and only one of the staff was at the counter, who looked like he hated his own life, which was a good thing because his plan was, if anybody asked him what the fuck that red thing on him was, he would have said red wine.
Should I be dripped out?
[System: Change the style so you are harder to identify.]
Well, my face is going to be identifiable no matter what. He thought as he tried on a brown t-shirt.
[System: It still matters, especially right now. You need to make a difference between what you were and what you are right now.]
What do you mean by that?
[System: Just hours ago, you were nobody, but now, with the card and what you have done, you are finally somebody. A killer on the run to be precise.]
Ohh, so I became somebody because I killed Hoffa? That is weird logic and fucking fifty bucks for a plain brown shirt, what the fuck is this thrift store.
