FALSE Clairvoyance

Street-Tense Solution

The shorter guy flashes him a grin hardly distinguishable between hospitality and mischief. Koke's face is questioning. They are now less than a metre apart.

“It is a green stain huh?” The street guy's reard is croaky, deep and irritating. Koke's expression turns from frowns to almost impassive. “Bring....No!” The accountant's voice is stupid little as he instinctively and quickly extends away his arm from the bloke trying to have a look at the green spot. Koke looks past the guy, noticing a walnut short three-legged stool adjacent to a dirty grey metallic bucket. It's in the bucket that this beastly fella does his dodgy work, whilst his arse rests on the stool. Koke's attention returns to the face with large black eyes, a scattered dirty stubble and a honey-cool undertone complexion. His turn to leave must indicate that he doesn't want to be here.

“Hey man, relax. I can help you.” The built chap admits with a bossy demeanour. He won't stop pulling gently at his chin hairs. Koke continues with his walk.

The medium-height man gasps, extending both arms outwards from his frame. “You know well I can remove that mark.” He speaks almost to himself. Koke turns the instant he hears that.

“You can't.” He replies with a clearly annoyed voice. He's stuck between moving away from this street guy promising him out of the blue and remaining to test his claims. He decides to remain. He walks reluctantly back to the man. The shorter one smiles, his fingers relentless with their games at his chin.

“Come, I'll show you.” He reaches for the accountant's shoulder, guiding him towards the canoe-shaped container. For a moment, Koke looks over his shoulder. In just that tiny moment of persuasion, the cart man is nowhere to be seen. “Come have a sit bro.” The persuader mentions to Koke as his muscled arm kind of forces the dude's frame to lower down to the stool. Koke cautiously looks between the stool and the sugarcane cart. “Mister.” The shorter man calls.

“Uh....Um.” Koke responds with a post-trance visage.

“You need some cane?” The bloke asks, his large eyes moving effortlessly between the accountant and the cart. Koke shakes his head, his attention on the bucket. He shifts his arse on the stool and turns his neck to observe it well. He lifts himself a bit as the street chap pulls out a plastic crate from underneath a mess of empty sacks next to Bob's employee. The lad sits again, with predictable hesitation.

Again, the lad makes a quick turn looking at the cart. The owner is not yet back. He abandons his curiosity, turning to focus on why he sits here with a scary street fellow who claims he can help him get rid of the green mark. His eyes surely catch the chin hair disturber at his best. He's eyeing him back with concern. Koke breathes out loud but this is nowhere near a mover. His immediate neighbour instead gets his sight down to the grey bucket. Koke copies the action. Before the accountant can even make out the bucket's content, “Give me your hand.” The street man requests, his better-muscled forearm stretched over the bucket to Koke.

Koke shakes a bit. The street geezer broadens his weird eyes at the dude. Koke looks back but he looks trembled of the two. “C'mon. I know you don't want to waste a lot of time.” The guy with a shaven head with scattered unkempt hair groans as he talks, his eyes going over Koke's shoulder and meeting with the sugarcane seller's opposite. He swiftly returns his focus to the dude who's staring at his face with a dirty stubble. Bob's worker exhibits fear and weirdness in his black-brownish eyes. The stool owner tilts his head at Koke. His wide black eyes still looking at the younger male wildly.

Koke cautiously brings his hand forward to the solution claimer, placing its back onto the guy's open waiting palm. The way the man grips Koke's hand makes jerks the accountant a little, his eyes widening. “Yo, cool.” The older fella speaks.