[AudioBoxer]

"All right, I need form-fitting blue tights, and a blue cowl with pointy things coming off of the face that look like this guy's." He showed the clerk a picture of someone with adamantium claws and a sulphuric acid personality. "To go."
"Oh, I get it," the clerk said, heading back toward the stockroom, "You're gonna be a super hero! What're you going to be called?"
Rob did a take, alarmed. "I can't tell you that! It's a secret!"
"Oh, yeah, secret identity. Yeah, we all respect heroes' secret identitites around here. Keeps up our reputation." He made the distinctive sound of looking through clothes in the back room.
"Well, that's good, 'cause I don't want anybody to link this blue bow and blue armguard and blue finger tabs and blue quiver to me."
The clerk came back out with a costume and a cowl. "Size fourty regular, right? Say, I don't think you'd need finger tabs with those callouses on your right . . ." he fully grasped the size of Rob's right arm. ". . . fingers. . . ."
Rob held the costume in front of his torso, then glanced at the plate glass window behind him. "Uh, could you close the curtains?"
"Yeah . . . sure. . . ." The clerk pushed a button marked "BIG BLACK WALL" underneath the counter, which caused the front window to be obscured by a big black wall.
Rob slipped into the costume as quickly as he could manage. It fit. "Good. Tear-resistant, doesn't limit my mobility, and doesn't clash with my baby blue eyes." He put on the foxlike cowl as well. "Great. I'll take it all."
"H-how did your right arm get so big?"
"Oh, that. Well, I need all the strength I can get to pull my bow back. Helps increase my range."
"Really? Can I see it?"
"Sure," he handed the clerk the bow. "You can even touch it."
The clerk tried to pull the bowstring back. He couldn't exceed five centimeters. "Satan's bow isn't even strung this tightly."
"Satan didn't have to sight targets half a mile away." He took the bow and drew it back twenty-eight inches. You could hear his bicep's muscle fibers contract. "I might have to do that some day. Er, how much?"
"Um," he whispered in Rob's ear.
". . . and THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS?! Oh, all right." He shelled out the bread. "That just about cleans me out. Hope it's worth it."
"So do I. Uh, have a nice day!"
Rob turned back just before he ran into the big black wall. "Uh, yes, I'll be wearing it home with me."
"Huh?" puzzled the clerk. "Oh, yeah, the wall." He pushed his button a second time, and the wall retracted. "Um, how much force did you say that bowstring exerts when you pull it back all the way?"
"Oh, this?" said Rob. "Only two hundred pounds. I'm working toward the day when I can match the drawing weight of an arbalest a tour."
"Uh, how strong is that?"
"Twelve hundred pounds." Rob stepped out the door.
'Now, Ski Mask,' he thought, checking the autoclicker on his camera, 'Prepare yourself for the wrath of . . . Foxbow!'