I'm at the shop to pick up my suit. One of the women hands me a package wrapped in clear plastic. I need to pay. I open my wallet, but the credit cards are missing. I realize that another woman had taken my wallet, went through it, and took out the cards.
I decide to open the package to check out the suit. I pull it out of the wrapping and marvel at how the tailor transformed the thin brown woolen cloth I brought in several days ago. But I'm also quickly dismayed to see that it's incomplete -- the right sleeve isn't sown on. In fact, the needle and thread are still dangling off.
I bring it over to yet another woman who is seated at a wooden desk, which has an ink blotter on the surface. I show her the defect. She takes the suit and lays it on the desk in front of her. She puts on her glasses. As she looks down on the suit, I stare pointedly at the back of her head.
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