. The Tailor’s Apprentice .
It was long awaited — the day he finally mustered up the courage to even step foot inside the mystical shoppe. Graham swallowed hard, eyes wide with wonder as he peered in through the darkened glass of the front window. No surprise as to why some might say he was m a d — Jefferson’s work was quite brilliant, to say the least. The way he turned yards of fabric into gorgeous works of art in just a day or so was astonishing; so were the rumours that he could eyeball anyone’s measurements with spot on precision.
Graham’s jaw nearly dropped in awe when glimpse of the mad man, so focused on his work, caught his eye. Clearing his throat, he straightened his stance, adjusting his tie. With one last glance upon the window, he flipped through his portfolio, so desperately hoping that his work would be enough. Something that would catch Jefferson’s eye — that it would even be considered something special.
He cleared his throat again, swallowing down the hard lump of anxiety that had been brewing in his throat. ‘I can do this,’ Graham said to himself under his breath. Lids fell to a moment’s close, and he finally came to open the heavy wooden door, sounding the jingle of an old, worn bell. There was no backing out now.
Footfalls slowly trekked across hardwood floors, eyes taking in all the wondrous garb. He shook his head: f o c u s . Fingers tightened their grip on the leather bound portfolio. With a few more steps, Jefferson came into view — ‘twas such an honour to catch glimpse of the mad man deep in his work.
Graham let out a low, polite cough, “Uhm . . . Excuse me,” he began, forcing confidence to wash over his nerves, “I want to be your apprentice, Sir.”
@hatteir