I have to admit: I fell a little in love with Nico. Or at least with his mustache.
Despite his vaguely Arabian charm, he doesn’t come from very far away—from Santa Barbara, to be precise.
He opens his briefcase.
I make these myself, he says.
He’s here to place them—to place the design.
Click! My camera jams. Damn it! Let’s hope the shot went through.
Good luck, Nico. He’s already gone.