The Red Dress

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It was there in the dress shop window, staring her in the face like a neon billboard.

Everything inside her told her she had to have it.

It hung on a mannequin in Bestler's Shop. It called her, begged her to buy it. But she kept putting it off.

The rent. Groceries. So many other things pleaded for her paltry paycheck.

But it needed a warm body to hug it, to love it, to give it life.

She stood in front of the dress shop window silently going over her options. She could steal it. Break the plate glass window. Go to jail for what, a hundred years.

Maybe not.

Because that meant spending the best years of her life mingling with the dregs of incarcerated womanhood.

And who knew what they'd do to her?

An easy mark.

And worse yet, who knew what she'd catch?

Lice. Bedbugs. Or worse.

But still. It was so beautiful. It might be worth it, she reasoned.

That dress was perfect. It would make her look like a million bucks.

Maybe two.

She stood there salivating.

Hyperventilating.

She had to have it.

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