at-least-four-knives cont. from X.

Maybe, if he looked away, this guy would turn into something else. Nope. Robert gives him a short nod and takes a drink as well. This is some crazy shit. Quick, think of something to say. He’s gotta know this guy, whoever he is. “Name’s Dave. Tickle pitbulls for a living.” Nailed it. Yeah, this guy’s a cryptid, probably an alien.

    _{Well, that’s fucking weird.}

    _{❝… Juan. I work at Party City.❞ Like FUCK is he was going to tell this creep his real name. Or anyone shady for that matter. Or the cops. But ESPECIALLY not this Dave dude. ❝… Tickling pitbulls. Never heard’a that job before. Tell me about it.❞}