Tiger Stripped Leggings {Joshler}

Cigarette buds_Cp 1

'Why would someone wear tiger striped leggings?'

It wasn't until this day I soon answered my question, for the use of this article of clothing could only occupied by one man...

"You seem to be very interested in that drumset, young man. Are you considering purchasing the 'Venia2006' set today?"
Hiding my chin deep in the crevice of my collarbone, I tug nervously at my worn shirt, an indecipherable logo of a band I've never heard of angrily copied onto the fabric. I feel myself choke at the sudden presence.

"N-no, I'm not searching for anything here. I'm just wandering." Wincing at my effeminate voice I kept my head down, glancing nervously at the respectfully dressed adults passing me by. With what I felt was a vicious glare, the worker waved me off towards the exit.
"Leave, then. We don't need anymore pansies around this place." He scoffs, spotting a possible customer eyeing a guitar. As he began to walk away I feel my anger start to leak out, filling every cell within my body pure with rage. Glancing up at the back of his head, I suspect he's around his late fifties, this job his only source of pitiful income.

I grimaced, all fear drowned in one moment, biting my lower lip harshly. My teeth irk on my lip ring, causing my mouth some minor discomfort  drawing a bead of blood.
Eyes directly on the back of his skull, I whisper "At least I wouldn't treat a 'valued' costumer like you'd treat a damn abortion." My fists clench and unclench continuously, anger unbearable. I proceed to raise my voice slightly, hoping he'd overhear. "Not as if you could get laid in the first case, you being the ugliest bald parrot I've ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on."

I smiled triumphantly at my unwavering voice, hoping he'd think of how pitiful his life currently is going before he rested his nonexistent forehead down.
Turning away satisfied, I grasp onto a few moments of dignity, all but soon fizzing away.

'Why did I have to talk back? I won't be allowed back into that shop for at least a month- I can't face that man again. Why, why did I say that?' I shake my head slightly, face bunched in thought, weaving through shoppers, head down but eyes tilted up through my sunglasses. 'I should try to control my anger better, although he deserved it. A customer should always be respected no matter their intent on purchase.' Through my thoughts I spot a discount store at the end of the mall, a quaint sign reading "Possible or Plausible" in white loopy letters.
Immediately Im drawn to the unique look of the items in the window, even yards away spotting musical instruments in the far back corners of the store. Rushing over I bump into a large woman wearing a lepord print sweater, fully accompanied by a face of heavy makeup. She looked disheveled, her face red with sweat glistening above her painted lips.

"I apologise, ma'am." I mumble, stopping in place, letting her pass by.  In utter shock I watch her go directly in my passage of direction, keys jingling in her hand. Halting for a moment, she turned towards me, a small grin on her full face.
"No harm, boy. I do hope you'll stop by my store if you have the chance!" She spoke, a thick Australian accent wrapping up her look perfectly. "I'd love to show you around!" I watch in amazement as she briskly patters towards the store, "Possible or Plausible" and flips around the sign to OPEN, stepping in.

Smiling to myself, I glance at my watch reading 5:45, and stride over to the shop, imagining what possibilities lay in store for me.