He was old, severely so, with wallet-like skin and hair that looked like feathers.
“Ma’am,” he said, “would you like to buy some new strings?”
“Strings?” I repeated. “No, sir, I don’t need any strings. I just bought some last week.”
“But strings wear out so quickly. Are you sure yours aren’t frayed already?”
I thought about that for a minute, considering the condition of my strings.
“No, I think I’m good,” I answered him. “Now please leave me alone!” I started to walk away. “But ma’am!” he shouted after me. “No!” I said. “I’m fine!”
And with that I ran down the middle of the road, tripping over cobblestones and traffic barrels until my legs began to falter and my arms began to flail.
I collapsed onto the street, my frayed and snapped strings falling all around me.