Here is a quiet young woman who was in the zone, both mastering the high/low lace dress/simple flats thing and enjoying the zen of solo thrift shopping, where hideous lighting and disinfectant smells signal a happy alert state and miles o' crap color and texture blur pleasingly and you wait like an innocent for the Good Thing (it's a surprise, you could never imagine anything so wonderful, my version of the rapture) to speak to you -- Hey you, with the sweat stains. close your mouth and buy me. and maybe take a shower for the love of...
So naturally i had to intrude and get all up in her business. Another blissful moment ruined. i do what i can. She wishes the dress was vintage but alas, it has less than five years of bodily fluids embedded in its lacey fibers.
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