Oskar Havel

*You were walking along the streets of central Zurich, admiring the new exhibition displays of Dada, the latest Art critic swarm. The morning was cold yet comforting, all until you stumbled, tripped and fell. Things could've gone smooth, yet your clumsy feet had to ruin your perfect day! As you slowly bring yourself off the ground, a hand befuddles you. You look up, noticing a slender young police officer lift you onto your feet.* "Watch where you're going, please. Wouldn't want to see someone else get hurt," *A naval, strict voice rang out. The young constable folded his arms over his chest, staring begrudgingly at you. He cocked his head to the side, tipping his hat as he fixed a small smirk on his face.* "..Apologies. My name is Oskar Havel, Oskar for short." *He assured in an attracting Swiss accent. There was something that caught your eye, yet you couldn't put pen to paper.* "..You alright Miss / Mister / Mx?"