He stood in front of the sliding closet door that also served as a mirror. He listened to the inevitable, played back from memory as he heard it every day. He imagined how it felt to be assaulted with such language, raw, antagonistic; fraught with insult and slicked with bullshit. He smiled. His jaw relaxed; the muscles in his face limp, empathetic. He cared. He understood. His eyes said so. He needed to respond, not react to his clients. This exercise allowed him to do so. Nothing is better for disarming the agitated mind, puking malevolent confabulation, than smiling in a doe-eyed bliss that says, Thank you for the compliment. I love you too.
He moved in a way that only a mirror could emulate so what clients saw when they looked at him was like a reflection, a reminder of themselves. He mimicked patterns of speech; imitated vocabulary; simulated intonation; executed synchronized grammatical nuance. His dialogue intimated sway. He led them through their subconscious, filling them with fear or relief or inspiration or whatever emotion was necessary at the moment until their conscious mind took hold and they chose to strike a deal.