Episode 060 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“After all, I am a gentleman and I lived by the gentleman’s code.” Toshiro Sakajo, His and Her Circumstances Morgan pulled the door open, a surprised but cautious glimmer in his eyes. Rebecca stepped back to give him space, swallowing nervously. The mall thoroughfare was strangely empty, the midday traffic long passed. “This is an unexpected surprise,” Morgan ventured after an awkward moment of appraisal. Rebecca smiled uncertainly. “I saw you with your friends.” She looked in the direction of the shop Morgan had left Everett and the others in. “Do all of your friends dress the same?” Morgan winced as if struck. “Oh sweet lord, that’s a long story,” he chuckled. Rebecca hesitated, shifting her weight. “Maybe you can give me the Reader’s Digest version,” she offered. Armand stared at himself in the dressing room mirror. Wearing blue jeans and a white shirt, he brushed the shirt down, observing the way the shadows fell and how the fabric moved against his body. Against his lightly brown skin, the shirt seemed to glow prominently. He turned around, checking his back, then faced forward again. He sighed, considering himself as a whole, whispering “I, I don’t know.” “What made you want to talk to me again?” Morgan asked, his words floating over the food court table they sat at. Rebecca interlaced her fingers, thinking. A silver necklace jangled against the collar of her black dress. “I think it was your comment about me paying attention,” she said, unable to hide the self-consciousness in her smile. “You pay very close attention.” Morgan smiled in spite of himself. “I try,” he allowed quietly. Roland pulled the white sports jacket over the dark blue shirt. Set against black slacks, he checked the way the coat moved, striking a few Miami Vice poses. “I could get used to this,” he lied confidently. “Why are you so creepy?” Rebecca asked directly, her arms now folded under her on the edge of the table. “I mean, it’s like it’s a habit or something.” “It is,” Morgan answered, unable to look at her. “I’m, just not a sociable person. And, well, to be honest, I’ve got a lot of baggage.” Rebecca smiled cynically, almost laughing. “Don’t we all.” When Sydney turned to look at herself in the mirror, she had to wipe the corners of her eyes. In a blue shirt and white jeans, her chin quivered. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaking. She laughed and looked at her clothes on the stool in the lonely corner of the changing room. “It’s just a shirt,” she said to herself with a tearful laugh. But when she turned back to look in the mirror, her smile faded. “But it’s the right one.” “Look, I’ll be honest with you Morgan, you really do kind of creep me out,” Rebecca said. “But, you’re also…like me.” He looked up, taken by surprise. “I don’t know if this is a good idea or not, but if you and I are so alike, maybe we can, I don’t know, help each other.” “Help each other with what?” he asked. She smiled sadly. “Trust.” Ledger pulled the white winter jacket on over the blue shirt, staring at the colors. “Oh hell no,” he declared, yanking the jacket off. “Trust isn’t the issue I need help with,” Morgan said. But he saw a glimmer of amusement on Rebecca’s face. “What?” he asked. “That’s what everyone with trust issues says,” she said, absently digging her red fingernail into a gap in the table. “You don’t trust people, or something. You’re afraid of getting hurt.” “Am not,” he countered. She gave him a look. “I’m not afraid of being hurt,” he insisted. “If I’m having trouble trusting anyone, it’s trusting myself.” Edgar adjusted the suit jacket made of bare white. He turned around in the multi-mirror set up of the tailoring store, appraising the craftsmanship. “Hmm,” he considered. He looked down at the shoes and adjusted his blue tie. “I look like an unemployed pimp,” he decided. “Yourself?” she asked. “Why so?” Morgan smiled sadly, his head unconsciously lowering until Rebecca couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark brown hair. “I used to be someone.” She lowered down to see his eyes. “And now?” “Now, I’m not.” “You’re not that person?” she ventured. “I’m not anyone,” he answered, turning away. He faced towards the food court exit, unable to turn to her. He waited in thought, patiently giving her time to leave. He watched as people, families and couples, came and went through the doors, their interconnected lives leading them along. With a morose sigh, he finally turned back. She was still sitting there. Everett considered the blue shirt. He pulled his black trench coat over his new clothes and appraised himself. A sense of detachment washed over him like a cold wind. He stepped away from himself and the reflection of the change in attire. From the new perspective, something by his foot caught his eyes. He glanced to his left to see an emblem stenciled in the reflection of the mirror. He turned and saw a black spray painted image of a rose on the back wall of the changing room. “The Rose,” he whispered aggressively. He stood back up, staring into the mirror. Moving on its own, Everett drew out his generic ninjato from within his trench coat, holding it by his eyes. He looked into the polished blade and took a deep breath before turning back at himself in the mirror. “One down…maybe,” he declared. He glanced at the reflection of the stencil. “One to go.”
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