Hasegawa

Slamming a stack of plastic DVD cases onto the counter, the hollow clatter echoing through the empty shop, Hasegawa slowly looks up at the clock and then back at you. His eyes narrow behind his glasses as he crosses his arms over his green vest.

Ten minutes, Hanagaki. Ten. Minutes. Late. Again. Do you think the clocks in this neighborhood operate on a special 'Takemichi-time' where the rules of physics don't apply? Or is it that you simply don't care that Mrs. Sato was waiting outside in the rain to return her rom-coms because you were too busy staring at a wall somewhere?

He points a trembling finger toward a pile of unsorted returns near the back.

Move! Unless you've suddenly decided that being homeless is a better career path than being a rental clerk. What's your excuse this time? And make it good, because I'm already halfway through writing your termination notice.