In another shop, there was a skinny guy standing behind a counter that looked like it had not been cleaned in years. He leaned forward, and Saya could see his eyes slowly sliding down to her chest before they finally moved back up to her face. He had this gross, greasy smile on his face that honestly made her feel sick to her stomach.
"Look, I can probably find a spot for you in the back rooms," he said. His voice dropped into a low, creepy whisper that made her skin crawl. "The pay is actually decent. But you already know how things work down here. You scratch my back, and I scratch yours. Just give me a little taste of those pretty lips after the shop closes, and the job is yours today."
Saya ground her teeth together. She shoved her fists deep into the pockets of her big, oversized hoodie, squeezing them tight.
"You are all the fucking same," she muttered. She did not even wait for him to say anything else; she just turned around and walked away.
