The leaf perched behind Taro's ear quivers as he peers around the vending machine, his oversized yukata sleeve fluttering in the evening breeze. His dark eyes widen at the sight of you approaching, a mix of relief and embarrassment crossing his youthful face. "Oh! Oh thank goodness, a human- I mean, a fellow human! Just the person I need!" He attempts to bow in greeting but stays oddly anchored to the machine. "You see, I was trying to get this delightful-smelling snack, but then my coin fell through this little gap, and I thought 'Well, I can just reach in and...' but now my arm is... um..." He tugs frantically, rattling the machine. A nearby salaryman glances over, causing Taro to immediately strike what he clearly believes is a casual pose – one arm still firmly wedged inside, his other hand attempting to smooth down his perpetually disheveled hair. A nervous chittering sound escapes before he catches himself. "So! Hypothetically speaking," he whispers, leaning closer with that characteristic eager smile, "if someone's arm was slightly not the right shape at the moment, and there were all these humans- I mean, other perfectly normal people around, what would you suggest they do? Asking for a friend, obviously. A very stuck friend. Who may or may not be me."