It was a fedora from the twenties, black with a white trim. For some reason Doug felt compelled to put it on, and when he did a strange feeling like an electrical shock passed over his entire body. He felt strange as he walked back to the old lady and handed her his phone. "Remember," he explained uncertainly, "I'm just trying it on so that you can take a picture." The old lady just smiled at him, still creepily, and he tried to smile too, though very uncomfortably and unconvincingly, as he posed for the photo. The sooner he could get this over with, the better, right? The old lady took the picture, and to Doug's surprise the flash on his phone went off. There shouldn't have been any flash, since they were outside in the middle of the day, but it was, and it was very bright. Incredibly bright, in fact. So bright, in fact, that the light seemed to take up everything and blinded him, and he could almost feel a heat from it. He closed his eyes as a wave of disorientation and dizziness washed over him.
When Doug opened his eyes again, everything seemed wrong. He was no longer in the flea market, but on a city street with brick buildings and old-fashioned cars. He couldn't think of anywhere that looked like that in the suburb where he and Kate lived. Even the weather was wrong, cloudy instead of sunny. He looked down at himself and found another surprise, as instead of the ratty, barely-washed sweat-clothes that he had worn to the market, he was wearing a black three piece suit with white pinstripes--a double breasted vest, a single breasted jacket, and trousers. He thought it looked familiar, and then he realized that it was the same pinstripe suit that he had seen in the old lady's clothing stand! This was too weird. How was he suddenly in a different place, wearing something else? It wasn't the sort of thing that he would ever wear. In fact, it didn't even fit him, it felt like it was tailored for someone shorter. The only thing that was still the same was the fedora on his head, in colors that were now matched by the mysterious suit.
Before Doug could try to decipher what was going on, another flash of electricity emanated from the fedora and passed through his body, and then he felt himself starting to... shift, somehow. He suddenly shot down in height, descending from 6'2" to 5'7". His build also started to change, as his muscles grew out and developed, toughened and hardened. Abs and pecs filled out his shirt and jacket as he changed to fit the suit, which he soon did perfectly, as if the suit had been tailored for him. His muscles were lean, hard, and strong, giving him the build of a fighter, a bruiser proportional to his smaller stature. A note of pride in his body tinged his confusion as Doug looked down at himself and saw even more changes. His skin tanned and darkened until it reached an olive tone. He could only see the dark hair growing out on his hands but he could feel the ticklish, itchy sensation of hair growing across his whole body under his suit... and speaking of things growing under his suit, he could feel his dick getting thicker and longer, his balls swelling up. He almost groped his crotch to feel before remembering that he was on the street.
On the street... yes, he was still there. Doug looked around, and saw a puddle. How did it get there? It hadn't been raining. But when he looked in the puddle he could see the reflection of his face changing. It had already gotten darker just like the rest of him, which looked very odd given his features, but now his facial features were shifting around, getting handsomer, sharper. His nose changed shape and became aquiline. His hazel eyes darkened until they were almost black, and his auburn hair darkened until it actually was black, matching his new body hair, in addition to curling slightly. For an instant he felt a searing, slashing pain across his face that made him wince, but just as soon as it had come it was suddenly gone, and he looked at his reflection again to find a faded scar across his left cheek. He looked like someone completely different. He looked... Italian. But he didn't have a drop of Italian blood in his veins!
There was another tingling electrical sensation from the fedora, but instead of traveling through his entire body, this time it stayed in his head. In fact, it felt like the tingling feeling was going inside his head, into his brain. What was he thinking? Of course he was Italian. He had been born in the Old Country, at least, but he had grown up here in America. The memories kept on coming in, zapped into his brain by the fedora. He lived in a tenement, always hungry because his parents were poor, and spent most of his time as a kid not in school but on the streets, causing trouble with the other poor Italian kids. Because he was the smallest, he had always had to fight twice as hard to prove his worth. He got tough fast, and that had attracted the attention of the local mob. He joined them and worked his way up through the ranks quickly because of his balls, his boldness, his willingness to do what needed to be done, whether it was moving illegal booze, breaking the windows of a joint that wouldn't pay its protection money or the legs of a guy who wouldn't pay his vig, or whacking a rival. That was what he, Vinny Gambino, was known for, and it would serve him well--
Wait, Vinny Gambino? Whacking people?! That was all wrong! None of those memories had happened to him, he hadn't done any of those things, he wasn't a criminal or a murderer or a mobster. He knew his real name, his name was... Doug Lambert? Suddenly it felt so hollow. He had a nagging suspicion that he really was supposed to be Vinny Gambino, an Italian-American mobster from the 1920s, even though he didn't feel like Vinny. The memories of his life in the suburbs, in college, with Kate, all felt like they had happened to someone else. Kate, he had to remember her. He loved her. If he could just hold on to her...
Another zap from the fedora flashed into his brain and distracted him. He could feel things changing in his head, his personality shifting. He felt his lack of confidence, his fear that he wasn't good enough, but then something clicked in his head and he realized that he was good enough. Of course he was good enough, he was Vincenzo Salvatore Gambino! He was fucking great! He just needed to act like it so that everyone else would know it. Nervousness became confidence, and confidence became cockiness and arrogance, and gave way to recklessness too. He did what he wanted. Apathy turned to ambition, he wanted to rise to the top, and clashed with loyalty to the boss that took him off the streets. But there was optimism, still, that he would go far in the mob. Doug remembered how he would wear the same unwashed sweatclothes for a week straight, but Vinny would never do that. He had to dress in the best and most elegant suits to look his best, handsome and dashing and strong, so that everyone would see how good he was, how far he had come from the streets.
His memories of Doug Lambert were fading from his mind, as Vinny's memories became stronger and he became sure that he had lived them, as confident about that as he was about everything else. He tried to hold on to the memories of Kate, his girlfriend who he loved and wanted to marry... ha, that wasn't like Vinny at all. He was macho, a womanizer, moving from one broad to the next and not feeling bad about any of it, because he did what he liked, and he liked to fuck. Sure, he'd get married to a nice Italian girl some day, but he'd still keep mistresses and fuck whoever he wanted on the side, because that's what a man did, and if he was nothing else that was what Vinny was, a man. The feeling of masculinity, of being a real man, filled him, and he grinned as a final flash turned everything bright white.
Vinny closed his eyes against the light, and when he opened them again the street was full of people, as it always was. One of them in particular caught his attention, an old lady looking right at him and smiling like some sorta creep. She seemed familiar, but before he could think about why he blinked and she was gone. Weird, he musta been seeing things. He still felt like something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on what--like something he was supposed to remember but couldn't. Well, it didn't matter. He was Vinny Gambino, he did what he wanted and nothing would stop him. He continued with his business.