Having leaned in to place his order for a cafe Americano, no room, three shots, and surveyed the curvy terrain of the geometrically divine employee, with her being all eagerness and eyeshadow, he'd voluntarily offered her a graphically refined smile that spoke at a low, yet intense volume of his confidence and his oh, not a care in the world. He turned around abruptly once finished. Breaking her from her hypnotism. Her recovery shambled like a zombie to the next person in line.
"I'm pretty sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Or maybe it was the puppets from Labyrinth. You aren't an idiot, so I believe you." He'd emphasized, collecting packets of sugar in the raw while they waited for their order. "I just haven't really looked around the rest of the place except from my parking spot, through the lobby, and then to my apartment. I kinda just decided on a whim to move here. Like something told me to."
A pause.
"Maybe it was the promise of David Bowie in gray leggings, or probably more likely the sacrificial virgins."