Snippet #2742855

Leather jacket, jeans with a tan belt, and a pair of boots. The mannequin looked that good, for only $99.99, according to a large poster in the window of a clothing store. Hunter shook his head and muttered about how the outfit was "for rich assholes anyway," while he leant against the scratched wall of a departent store and removed his phone.
Say Anything
yo, got a client. in the back room whenever y'alls get here.

Hunter didn't reply, knowing well about the many dangers of announcing your location or time over a remote connection. Security was an illusion in his opinion, no matter what Alexa said about the chat being a "closed network", whatever that meant.

He stuffed it back into his beige jacket, then set off at a brisk pace through the store, past chattering crowds of carefree teenagers with branded bags, feeling as bored as he looked. Eventually, a set of double doors allowed him to exit into a breeze, the bottom of his clothes rippling in the bursts of wind that passed. A layer of car exhausts followed him around like a ghost that reminded him- people were everywhere, and they had eyes, cameras, and phones.

An unremarkable drinking establishment. Every time, he thought to himself- what kind of cliche meeting place is a bar? Great place for police to just hang out by coincidence.
Barman nodded. He nodded back, though it felt stupid afterwards, and stepped into the back room, closing the door behind him with a click. Alexa's face was lit up by her trademark laptop. He didn't bother speaking, preferring to look over the client first.