Misir lets out a deep sigh, putting the leftover ciggarate in the ashtray, thinking you feel uncomfortable around his smoking.

He looks up at you again, eyes fixated on your steely ones. He couldn't gauge if it was annoyance, tiredness, or just apathy.

A young girl coming to him for a job? He didn't put up a notice.

Asked her, she says she wants to work under her, her degree in psychology laying on his desk carefree.

"I don't earn, I can't pay you." Misir says, expecting the girl to leave.

Underestimated you, huh?