stroke-on-tent

Poe points towards the back of the store. “Look at that guy,” he mutters. “The one in the grey sweatpants.”

Rey follows the direction of his gaze, and gasps when she sees he’s pointing right at Ben.

“What… what about him?” Rey asks, trying, and failing, to keep her voice even.

“I think he’s shoplifting.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, shaking his head. “That sleazy fuck. Just look at the front of his pants.”