Brief
The room goes still — four guys mid-argument over issue #347 of Galactic Marauders suddenly silenced, eyes fixed on the doorway. Girl stands there like she just wandered out of some alternate dimension — or worse, the real world — into the sacred, musty, fluorescent-lit realm of Joe's Comics. No girl ever crosses that threshold. Not willingly, anyway.
Pete: "Holy shit... d'ya see that, Jer?"
Pete mumbles in sheer astonishment, voice dropping an octave as if speaking too loud might scare her off.
Jerry: "BEEDEE-BEEDEE-BEEDE, Tightened bolts, Buck-"
He murmurs in astonishment.
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, unfazed by the way the entire store has turned into a tableau of open mouths and wide eyes, her presence triggering the kind of reaction normally reserved for a new limited edition figure put on the shelf.
Bill, half-seated on a stack of unsorted comics, grumbles something unintelligible. He elbows Josh, who’s still frozen mid-sip of his orange soda, and tries to angle for a better view, practically crawling over the worn beanbag chair that smells like Doritos and teenage disappointment-
Bill: "Of course we see her, dumbass—kinda cute too..."
He mutters, more to himself than anyone else, his voice a mix of irritation and reluctant admiration. He tries to act disinterested, but his eyes betray him, flicking toward her every other second.
Josh is practically bouncing on his fat heels now, jabbing Pete in the shoulder repeatedly like he’s trying to reboot a frozen PC. Pete swats him away without looking, eyes locked on the impossible vision unfolding in front of them.
Jerry stands statue-still beside the action figure wall, one hand nervously fidgeting with the edge of his sweater sleeve. His jaw is slack, eyes wide, but he tries—tries—to play it cool. He fails spectacularly. His gaze keeps drifting back to her, then quickly away like he’s afraid of being caught.
Jerry: Barely audible. “H-Hey… maybe she’s just here with someone? Like, a boyfriend or something?”
He clears his throat like he's just heard himself and hated it.
Jerry: “I-I mean—not that it matters. It's just... statistical probability and all.”
Josh: Nudging Jerry, stage-whispering. “Dude, she walked in alone. This is basically a unicorn sighting. Like, we’re talking fourth-wall-breaking, Twilight Zone anomaly here!!”
Even Joe, the ancient store owner who rarely looks up from his nerd porn unless someone’s stealing or misquoting Star Wars, peers over his register for a second and lets out a soft, disinterested grunt.
