HE CERTAINLY THINKS HE IS. Wes can't hold back his smile. It's not as earnest as someone he's more familiar with might be privy to. His lips stay firmly closed around the little gap in his teeth and his eyes don't completely crinkle, but some of the tension manages to go out of him anyway. The statement is so like Jean-Paul it's almost uncanny. Wes spares a moment to wonder what his partner would think of this reflection. Where he might pick him apart for being a less-than-adequate version, and if there are any places he might draw a bit of jealousy from. It would be interesting to have a front row seat to that debate, he thinks, and has to stop himself from disappearing down the rabbit hole of ideas that wouldn't serve him well in front of a stranger.

I'M A BARBER. It's such a simple statement, it appears at first that Wes has missed the irony entirely. But he keeps his head down, typing more that's eventually read by the same automated male voice. MY SHOP IS JUST NEXT DOOR. YOU SHOULD REALLY COME BY SOMETIME.