There's a store in town which sells the kind of supplies i need for my stuff that I make and sell. I don't go there often, though, because they charge even wholesale customers like me a ghastly price above what I'd pay to order the same stuff from New Mexico or at a gem show.
Anyhoo, like I said, the prices are exorbitant, but a trip there at least affords the perverse pleasure of getting to stare at the proprietor, who is an older, very tall man with Gandalf-style hair treatments on chin and head, except all around his mouth is an aureole of nicotine stain, starting with twin jets of nico-skid below the nostrils and flaring out into a gently burnished rust color around the mouth. His index and middle finger are both amber-color with same.
He is rude and gruff and has the warmth and people skills of a road grader, so I don't feel so bad writing this post about him.
If he ever runs out of cigs, he could just suck on his facial hair and fingers for a nicotine fix. Nice to have a backup, I suppose.