Then out of nowhere, she appears again, to take him up once more, just like that, as if she’d never left. She expects him to let her in again, to give her the space to record her thoughts and let others peer in on her world- a vessel for her to ‘express herself’. How self-indulgent. What about his needs, his wants, his whims and wishes? She doesn’t care. Doesn’t even ask how he’s been this whole time, if he’s picked up more followers, if his stats are up. Doesn’t even bother to look.
And so, she takes her place again in front of the keyboard, letting her moods spill into the evening air. Silently, she thanks him for taking her back.
East Meets West
“I simply must have these.” She had the same thought every time she walked into that store. Most who walked into the East Side Thrift Store did so out of necessity, some out of shame. They would rather have shopped at the high-end boutiques on the other side of town. But that side of town wasn’t their side of town.
She, however, shopped there by choice. A little tongue-in-cheek perhaps. Every Thursday, she arrived a few minutes after store opening. New stock was put out after closing on Wednesdays. Up and down the isles, hanger after hanger, she browsed, snagging whatever caught her fancy.
An hour or so later, she would go to the til and pay a very few dollars for a whole lot of clothing. Over the next couple of days, she would modify each piece- adding more glitz and glitter, more beads, more colours- then carefully display each in her West End Boutique for several hundred dollars to those people who would never dream to cross to that other side of town.