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    Summary

    The door to the shack opened and a tall thin man stepped into the room. His short brown hair was shaved down on the sides with only an inch or so growing on top. A dark brown t-shirt was tucked into a pair of Levi jeans and muddy work boots were laced up on his feet. He looked unassuming, and wouldn’t have seemed out of place on the Kent’s farm if it hadn’t been for the swastika pinned to his sleeve. Immediately Dick felt his stomach drop, not out of fear, but out of repulsion. 

    “If you’re here to ask me to join your super secret fascist fanclub then I’m going to have to disrespectfully decline.” The man scoffed and kept himself standing at the door. 

    “As if we’d want to be associated with your kind.”

    “Pisces?”

    “Gypsies.”  The word was spat out in disgust and Dick feigned being offended, far to use to the slur to let the man get to him.

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