It was a rather slow day at the thrift store you worked at, and you were heavily debating on begging your boss to let you close shop early when a freakishly tall man entered the store, his head bowed slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling.

“Yo, do you guys sell bridal veils here?” The tall man asked. He was the walking epitome of a punk, though he looked pretty young to get married.

“It’s for my guitar.” He adds, pulling at the strap to bring the instrument over his chest for a moment.