“Have you tried pressing it in a couple of times?” he says, “Maybe it just needs a little wiggle.”
I search his face for any signs that he’s messing with me. The beady black eyes behind the thick, unrimmed lenses are clear and kind. His smile is straight from cheek to cheek. The unibrow unfurrowed, the forehead smooth as a baby’s bottom, the neck and earlobes no hotter than the rest. He’s either the world’s best actor or, even less likely, genuine in his desire to be helpful.
“You mean like this?” I ask and point the gun at him.
Music pairing: Advice for the Young at Heart by Tears for Fears