I get close to his box, looking at him, while he just kept looking back at me, both sweated and plagued by heath.
Not a single word came out of his mouth, framed by a three days' grown beard while I was staring back at him, trying to guess his next move.
He then slowly draw his arm from his side to the shelf and from the shelf towards me, holding a small brown box.
"For you" he chewed.
"Sir...", I replied.
He grunted something I could not understand, more meant to be the last word of our unrealistic standoff than a proper "welcome".
Half an hour later, sitting in front of the fan, I remembered the box.
Opened it... nothing but awesomeness was left.
Editor's note: this is an excerpt from an email sent to us by one of our customers in Torino, Italy. We are honored and delighted. Thank you, Emiliano.