Fake promises


“You need to control it,” Mark’s mother ranted while he observed himself in the mirror. He didn’t reply. It wasn’t the first time.

“If this continues, your reputation at work will deteriorate,” she continued despite his lack of expression. “Do something!” She concluded, irritated with his muteness.

Mark sighed before turning away. He was happy with his appearance—a lawyer’s coat suit him well. It was his hair that sprawled over his head, refusing to sit snug. Exasperated, he frowned at the tiny jar of hair gel on his dressing table. It’d cost a fortune, promising to “Tame that mane.”

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