Zipping a few doors down, I threw on khakis and a collared shirt from my wardrobe, but weirdly, the khakis' pockets were shallower, and the shirt, although not too small or too large, didn't quite fit somehow. I didn't think anything of it at first.
I met Haley at the door and walked off with her, arm in arm. As we walked down the street, I saw that all the women, twenty or eighty, indeed seemed to be dressed in the same skimpy clothing I'd seen in Haley's photos, but also they seemed to be looking at me in a strange way. Of course, all of us men, twig or mountain, are an intimidating presence, so I didn't think anything of it at first. For that reason, it didn't register with me at first how put off they seemed by my appearance, even with Haley at my side, but soon I realized that that familiar inescapable fear wasn't really what I saw in their eyes. Rather, they looked at me with an unafraid and pitiful sort of disgust, like they might look at a female burn victim...
That's when I realized - a female burn victim was exactly what I was. I looked around, and I saw young women, old women, fat women, thin women, butch women, bimbos, all dressed in Haley's fashions - but not one man, not even a male name or a photo of a man. They must've thought I suffered from some kind of birth defect (which, of course, I did). "Ah, Haley..." I said.
"Yeah," she said, "let's duck into an alley to, er, take care of things."
We did so, and I walked out as the familiar English goth. Again we locked arms and proceeded to the restaurant.