lunch time thrift break. my favourite thrift shop is right around the corner from my work and i find myself there often over lunch break, visiting with the older ladies who run the shop.
the shop is my favourite because everything is pretty cheap and the finds are pretty good. i can find antiques and old bones and fully beaded moccasins and belts and my favourite vintage dress. ive found leather and crystals and a frame someone made in 1881.
restless and troubled, as i often am, i peruse racks and listen to music. i find a cool kleenex box cover for my work and some shells. i visit with the older ladies and page through books and listen to old imchibeat tracks and i think about death and then i see a brand new rack of clothes and there they are. the perfect pair of jeans.
high waisted and pleated, cut for a smaller waist and a big juicy ass, i know they will fit me. i try them on under my skirt as an older lady watches me and i cant tell if shes eyeing my tattoos or hairy legs but i dont give a fuck. the jeans fit perfect and i am in awe that i wont even have to hem them to fit my short little legs. i feel like i should buy a lottery ticket. all women know the infinite sisyphean struggle to find jeans that fit and i find my perfect pair for $6 on a random lunch break like magic.
the last time i found jeans like this i shared a photo online with my now dead friend and she called me a babe and laughed about my struggle to find jeans that can accommodate an ass like mine. she had real big boobs and had the same problem just in a different location i guess. the joys of trying to fit a beautiful wild body into off the rack garments. fuck that noise.
i buy some antique jewelry at the thrift shop too, a tiny gold cross and this antique edwardian sun brooch. i think of my dead friend and hold the sun in a sweaty palm. thrifted jeans and thrifted gold.
i wash the jeans and research the brand and it says pairs online start at $170 a pair. that’s a lot of cash for jeans i guess so i feel pretty lucky. i wear them the next day and lots of girls compliment my jeans and my outfit. a guy yells “nice ass” from his car as i walk to work.
i’m all pumped up sitting at my desk typing reports, my fingers tracing the thrift store gold cross from time to time.
a little piece of faith, but fuck the wood and the blood, i want it in gold wearing nice ass thrift shop jeans.
i look just like the pretty downtown girls but for a fraction of the cost. bargain basement.
a shapeshifter in thrift store gold, thrift store jeans.
a shapeshifter with a nice ass.
big teeth dripping blood under my vintage cowboy hat.
hospital vespers 