"Yeah, well." Marty pulls a shirt off the hanger and holds it up to his chest. Hmm. Burgundy. That's flattering, right? "I can take the monsters." Of course, 'can' doesn't mean he actually wants to, so he's filing that safe house tidbit away for later. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Like the gun he found on a dead guy. It's pretty cool-- all old timey, like a six shooter or something. And it still has four bullets left, which he made a point of imbuing with some good luck. Currently, that special gun is wrapped up in his backpack with his other ill-gotten gains.

He tosses the shirt aside and starts inspecting the others. So absorbed in, well, himself is he that when something groans from the back room of the shop, he doesn't even notice.