He stands out like a sore-thumb - the green spoon. John would’ve argued that it was rude for the employees to look at him like he’s clueless; all trying to linger around his space with only a bit of feet between them with words they stutter, slip and surrender from the speaking. But he understood that the demographic of the store he’s in was rigid, inflexible, and he’s the old man likely stumbling upon the place by accident. 

However, he’s here for a reason, a purpose, and the folded paper on his fingers has the game he’s been anticipating since its announcement. 

“Ex-excuse me, sir?” Another salesperson, another pain in the head. But John sighs and turns around to face the girl they’ve likely pushed to his direction. She looks anxious and so was he, and he looks down on his paper to memorize the details of his game’s cover. 

“Is there something you need?” The girl continues but never moves closer. 

He didn’t even encourage it and instead clears his throat to prepare the words coming out of his mouth. “I want to know if you still have Colorful Island in stock,” John requests and shows off his paper to her. 

She took it, holding the paper as gently as she could. “We actually have some left at the back.”

Relieved, John sighs off his disappointment. “I see. I assumed you’re all sold out since I didn’t see it displayed.” 

“Yeah, we kinda choose not to display it right now. Crowd’s good but the traffic discourages other people to enter the store,” she - Liza as read by the ID hanging on her neck - tells him, motioning for John to walk up to the counter as she enters to the other side. “You can wait up here while I go get it or you can, like, check around and see if there’s anything like, sir.” 

John merely hummed his response and stayed put. His feet were tired and, well, besides the employees, other customers think he’s a spectacle to look at. It didn’t help that the shirt he’s wearing had a reference of a popular fighting game and he opted to wear a tote bag with a Peekachu on it rather than a simple backpack. 

He is an ancient being from the perspective of others and he can’t help that his wrinkles on his forehead have deepened, that strands of white hair have now come in batches rather than just a strand he sometimes cut off with scissors. 

“Here we go!” Liza comes in with a smile and she begins to process his purchase on the cash register. John immediately takes the folded amount in his wallet, knowing the price of his anticipated game, and exchanges it for the plastic bag Liza gives him. 

“So, uh, is it for a niece or a, uh, grandkid?” It’s just small talk - nothing more nor less - and John knows Liza’s curiosity with his intent despite the amount of merchandise plastered on his clothes. 

“Oh, no, it’s for me,” John answers in haste and leaves with his back turned and footsteps fast. He didn’t hear if Liza attempts to say a word after his reply nor does he bother nodding at the employee bidding him goodbye at the entrance either. 

The store slowly becomes smaller as he leaves the area and, for each glance he makes, John regrets how he looks - fashion wise, to be exact. Age was something he can’t control and his hobby was something he has yet to embrace completely without much thought of other’s perspective of himself. 

For now, he congratulated himself for finally purchasing his favorite game at a store.