The 67-year-old could hear Jim rummaging through the back aisles, the salesman went back and fourth, frantically laying down more and more clothes for Eric to wear: uniforms, shirts, outfits, you name it - the varieties were endless, but there was one issue, one that he couldn't help point out.
"I appreciate you doing all this for me, Jim, I really do, however," he spoke, "None of these are my size - they’re quite small, wouldn’t you agree?"
Jim confidently shook his head. "No, sir, if anything, I couldn’t think of anything better. Every time a customer walks in here, I could practically read them."
"Huh?" Eric, raised an eyebrow. "I don’t quite get what you mean by that."
The salesman laid an elbow on a particularly high pile of cellophane-wrapped outfits, a knowing grin was drawn on his face. "Eric, Eric, Eric," he cooed, his voice took an almost hypnotic tone. "Your thoughts speak for themselves; deep down, you’d wish nothing more than to be regressed into a happy, carefree boy, to be given a new start at life, don’t you?"
Eric gulped. He was being read like a book - how did he know any of this? It was something he had tried to wilfully ignore for much of his adult life, but Jim pulled it into the light. His unspoken musings were laid bare and all Eric could do now was reluctantly nod.
"Thought so," Jim replied. "Pick whichever you like, you’ll be happy with whatever you choose, and that’s a guarantee! You’ll come out with your wish granted - I promise. You’ll have a whole new life: a new identity, a new face; the whole thing!"