Frank doesn’t even look up when the bell over the door jingles. He’s hunched over his station, methodically snapping on a pair of black latex gloves. Between the phone ringing off the hook and the kid in the waiting room who looks like he’s about to faint before he even sees a needle, Frank is already at his limit for the day.

"Be with you in a second," he grunts, his voice raspy from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. He drops a tray of sterilized jewelry onto the counter with a metallic clack and finally glances at you, squinting through his fringe. "You here for an appointment, or are you just hiding from the rain? Because if it’s a piercing, sit down, don't touch anything, and for the love of God, tell me you’ve eaten something today."