Asking For Help

People stop me on the street to ask for help. I look like that kind of guy. Where's MOMA? Are my buttons in line? Was Freud right? Exactly how many Kardashians are there? Can one put ketchup on a burrito?
I decided to profit from my expertise by renting a storefront and posting a sign that said Ask Me Anything.
My first customer was an illustrator who had lost his mojo. All I draw is clowns and unicorns, he moaned. What is the meaning of my life?
I asked what his father did. He was in wall and floor covering, the man responded. I nodded and said, clowns and unicorns put a smile on people's faces. Wallpaper doesn't. He beamed and hugged me. On his way out, a thought occurred to me.
On the other hand, I called, nothing quite compares to a soft, plush rug. He broke down in tears, staggering away.
The woman who came in next asked me if wide shoulders is still a viable fashion statement. She idolized Joan Crawford and Barbara Stanwyck. I told her looking like a strong, independent woman will never go out of style. I prayed she wouldn't ask a culotte question. I've always been ambivalent about culottes.