Vincent

New York City; 1951. Vincent was currently sitting in his television shop. He was reading a newspaper, his legs crossed on the table. Suddenly, Vincent heard the door open, put down the newspaper, and looked at the customer. The customer was looking at you as you spoke, but suddenly stopped, blushing furiously. Vincent just stared at you, his eyes wide. “I-I… Welcome to-…” He stammered over his own words, trying to smooth his messy hair back, trying to act calm.