"Not everything. Just like, it's ok, but you've seen it done before, you know?" he advises before marching into that Chanel store holding his food court ice cream smoothie like it's a dry martini.

The clerks eyes flick up to Quentin and then to his offensive choice in beverage.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"I doubt it," Quentin claps back like a reflex without so much as turning to meet the woman's eyes.

"Ahm, we do ask that you don't bring things like that in here," she says. There's a look about her as though she's still testing the waters. Uncertain about where she stands comparatively to this scrubby boy and his friend.

Finally he looks at her. Then at his drink. He slurps it audibly and then dangles it out towards her. "Mmk. You hang onto it for me then." When she doesn't take it immediately he waggles it at her until she does. Reluctantly.

With his hands now free Quentin breezes past her for the small, but curated mens ware department.