Strangely enough, given his expectations, he thought the other person would pester him for a few days. So every time before opening his door, he would mentally prepare himself, but that guy really never came back.

After a few days, Henry Clark thought he had truly accepted reality.

Who could have guessed he’d go straight to David Morgan instead?

How did he find him? Henry Clark was genuinely curious. This guy should just become a spy instead of messing around with a band.

“Could you come and take a look at our…”

Before he could even finish saying “rehearsal,” Henry Clark interrupted him bluntly, “No.”

“Why not?”

“If you have to ask ‘why’ about everything, life’s just too exhausting.”

Henry Clark didn’t even lift his eyelids. “If you came all the way here just for this, I can only tell you, no matter how many times you come, my answer will always be the same: not interested.”

The two of them faced off in silence.

As an old friend, David Morgan understood Henry Clark; after all he’d been through, he was no longer the same person he used to be.

Maybe he could be coaxed into other things, but getting him back into a band—there was no way, not in this lifetime.

The summer heat lingered, and a late-summer breeze blew a leaf inside, spinning as it landed at Edith Parker’s feet.

He glanced down, “What about something else?”

“Something else? You sure have a lot of requests.”

Henry Clark still wore his usual careless smile, spouting nonsense out of habit: “Don’t tell me you want me to give you a tattoo? Did you see that guy just now? My loyal customer. Don’t end up like him, coming back to crack my head open—how heartbreaking would that be.”

David Morgan couldn’t stand anyone mocking his work and immediately got annoyed. “Hey, you punk…”

“That wasn’t your work.” Edith Parker cut in first, his tone certain.

Henry Clark frowned. “How do you know?”

Your drawings are worse than a kindergartener’s—how could you do tattoos?

Edith Parker didn’t answer his question, turning his head to glance at the rows of earrings hanging on the wall.

“Pierce my ears for me.”

Henry Clark never expected such a simple request.

“Sure, as long as you pay. Want to do it now?”

“No.”

“Then when?”

“Soon.”

With that, Edith Parker turned to leave.

What’s with the riddles?

“Hey, don’t come back anymore. I won’t be here after this.”

But Edith Parker didn’t say a word, not even looking back.

Henry Clark watched his retreating figure, lost in thought for a long time. For a moment, he suddenly felt a sense of familiarity, as if he’d seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t recall where.

He even had a strange urge: to take off this guy’s hat and really, carefully see what he looked like.

That was so he could avoid him better.

Henry Clark tried to give this inexplicable curiosity a reasonable excuse.

Of course, he didn’t have time to act on it—Edith Parker had already left, quick and decisive.

After all that, the shop was a mess. David Morgan sighed.

“Seriously, are you a jinx or something? You’ve only been watching my shop for a few days and already attracted a bunch of weirdos… Weren’t you teaching kids nursery rhymes before? Go on, then, my humble shop can’t afford to keep a big shot like you.”

“It’s music theory, idiot.” Henry Clark put away the paint bottles. “Didn’t I tell you? The boss went back home a couple days ago, so I didn’t have any classes scheduled. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright then.”

For no particular reason, David Morgan suddenly thought of that letter and hesitantly asked, “So, have the debt collectors come looking for you these past few days?”

“No, I just moved in a few days ago, they probably haven’t found me yet.” Henry Clark replied absentmindedly, then thought of that kid from earlier.

He’d make a good spy, but if he worked for a collection agency, he’d definitely be the debt-collecting champion.

“Oh.” David Morgan swallowed his words.

Henry Clark noticed something was off. “What’s up?”

David Morgan didn’t look at him. “Nothing, just asking.”

He bent over to sweep up the broken glass, and unexpectedly found a black card holder in the corner. He unzipped it, took a look, and tossed it to Henry Clark.

“How does this handsome guy keep losing his stuff?”

Henry Clark caught it casually.

The card holder looked a bit old, black, with two white letters “NY” embroidered in the lower right corner.

Custom made, probably a gift from some girl.

He unzipped it and found a few bank cards inside, as well as a folded admission ticket for an English placement test. The candidate’s name was Edith Parker, and the university listed was—the one Henry Clark knew best.

The test was scheduled for tomorrow morning.

David Morgan rested his hands on top of the broom handle and grinned, “Well, what a coincidence, your fellow alum.”

Not bothering to respond, Henry Clark put the admission ticket back, zipped up the card holder, tossed it onto the counter, and went back to his lounge chair for a nap.

“Looks pretty important. Maybe he’ll be back for it soon.”

Henry Clark half-closed his eyes, thinking, who knows.

He said he’d come every day, and also said, “See you tomorrow.”

But he himself had told him not to come. That kid seemed pretty trustworthy.

Henry Clark habitually squeezed his left hand, turned over, and couldn’t be bothered to think about it anymore.