You start to head back towards the front of the store to cash out, but as the desk enters your sight, you see that the attendant isn’t there. You were pretty sure he was the only person working there, and realize you have to find him and get him to cash you out. You turn around and quickly spot him actually walking towards you at a fast stride, with a pair of athletic socks on one hand and a pair of running shoes in the other.
You don’t get much of a chance to say anything before the socks and shoes are thrust in your hands. “For you,” the attendant says, gesturing down to your feet. You look down and see that your shoes are being stretched to their limit, and the socks you’re wearing are very raggedy. You didn’t want to spend even more money, but the sudden realization of your shoes not fitting makes your feet hurt, as you quickly sit down on a nearby bench to pull them off.
You take a moment to look: you never realized how hairy your feet were before. Thick, dark brown hairs cover the top of your feet, and each toe has several thick hairs before the toenail. It only makes sense that you do, you realize, after all, you’re a Greek man. The thought lingers in your head for just a moment – it feels both wrong and right at the same time, in some sort of superposition with itself.
Shaking your head to dismiss your strange brain today, you pull on the new athletic socks, a soft, white pair with blue stripes around the top, and stretch them up to your calves. You take a moment to examine the shoes. They’re a light gray, with blue accents and an athletic logo. It matches your shirt, you realize, the aesthetic of the Greek flag filling you with pride. You pull up the tongue and are taken aback for just a moment as you naturally read the number 47, but then realize that’s the European size: the shoes are size 13 in the numbers you’re familiar with. Or, that you remember being familiar with.
Everything feels so hazy when you stand up. But your clothes fit. The attendant is standing nearby, putting clothing on hangers on a nearby rack. You approach him, smiling, as he notices you and turns around. “Ef- efcharistó,” you say, as he looks confused. You shake your head, “Ah, sorry, thank you.” You say, the accent making the words roll off your tongue heavy. “English not the first language.”
The attendant smiles, blushing a little bit as he looks at you. You lean over him a little, realizing for the first time: he’s actually really cute. Hot and blonde, looking a little vacant, with a square jaw. Are you... into men? You want to stop, but your body gets closer to him by a couple of inches, not listening to your desire to think about these changes, but rather act in the moment.
The attendant speaks up, leaning into you. “Well, thank you, sir,” He says, as you realize he’s flirting with you. “..but, you didn’t buy anything.” He seems a bit confused. “This is what you wore in.”
You blink, pausing for a moment. Is he trying to give you free stuff? He seems sincere, though, not like he’s being sly. You try to think of before you left, and remember picking out the tank from your closet, and putting on these jeans before slipping the shoes on at your front door. But then, why are you here? Nothing is making sense, except..
You stare into the attendant’s eyes, as he blushes, starting to pull his face towards yours.