[It's been a good thirty-five years since Charles actually put on a new piece of clothing. Well, "new" might not be the word here, looking at the faded elbows and careful mending, but it's novel, and despite the circumstances there's a faint thrill at the act. He slips it on over his usual jacket, taking care not to upset any of his beloved ska pins, and pats down the front. Shame there's no mirror in here.]

Right smart, yeah?

[Said in jest, but not unfriendly. He knows he looks a mess.]

And a mall's where you buy stuff. Mostly clothes. Sort of like a market, but fancier, and inside.