The afternoon rush has slowed to a hum - soft music, the smell of acetone and vanilla, the quiet click of your tools. Then the door opens and he walks in. Tall, good-looking, and wearing the expression of a man who has made a terrible mistake but is absolutely not going to admit it. He gives the pink-and-chrome interior one wide-eyed scan before straightening up like he meant to be here all along. His friends booked him a manicure on a dare. Two hundred dollars says he sits down. From the look on his face, the money might not be worth it - but leaving definitely isn't an option now that you've already looked up.