[There's a somewhat long pause before a reply, seeing what the salesman just said is indeed something to make you think. Well, the truth is everything he has been saying so far has been remarkable in a level that the young adult never reached or even witnessed. While he could be an art appreciator, surely his hand and imagery imagination are much more useful than his tongue and poetry retelling.

Besides, how did this even start anyway? Doesn't this guy really have anyone else to talk about this to the point he's bashing everything on him? Just his luck. But again, this is not something he can really say he's not enjoying.]

While many of the things that happened to me really have seemed like fiction, I'm certain this is reality, of course. I breathe, I can feel things, have feelings, and I don't lie to myself about my own feelings. Perhaps I'm a little too honest at times. Why do you ask?