Roazin feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He reaches for it, but pauses when the man says his name. Emil. . .Emil. . . His mind raced to place the name and face with where he had heard it before. A magazine flashes through his mind, one he’d seen multiple times on Cheryl’s vanity. Today’s Top Fashion. Emil was the guy in the cover. A famous fashion designer.
He looks up at him again, “Sorry. . . I don’t need the job, Thanks for the offer though.” He steps back, sliding his phone from his pocket. He frowns slightly at the messages on the beat up screen. His father was always too drunk to operate a phone, but Cheryl was always quick. She was adding more things to her damn list and with the same time to be home.
He sighs softly, “Have a good day, sir. . .” He murmurs, turning away,