“Well, Harold, people just aren’t buying hats like they used to,” Mitch said.
“Hell, I know…but what do you suggest?”
At that moment, a rail of a man in a tweed suit walked by leading a small child by the hand. The man tugged firmly, too firmly, at the boy’s hand as the child winced in pain.
“C’mon, you lousy humgruffin!” the finely dressed man shouted to his bespectacled child whose tears threatened to overwhelm the little one’s rosy cheeked face.
Harold and Mitch looked at one another and thus was born, ‘Harold’s Hats and Murder Emporium.’