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collar
I was in that pet-store on the corner of Chapel and High streets. I found the rack of dog-collars and was sorting through the black leather ones, holding them up to my neck to see if they'd fit. The sales assistant came over, quite an attractive young woman wearing one of those lovely, chunky jumpers knitted out of strands of wool thick as LAN cable. I was too embarrassed to admit that I was buying a collar for myself, so I just kept browsing, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. She wasn't about to let me get away with that. "Are you looking for something in particular? What kind of dog is it for?" Okay. "Actually, it's for me." This didn't surprise her, for some reason. I suppose they get a lot of alternative types shopping in here. I found one that I quite liked; rows of rocket studs and a silver name-plate attached to the front. "Oooh, you'd look good in one of those!" she cooed. I beg your pardon? Was she talking to me? With a superhuman effort, I turned to face her; she wasn't even looking at me. She was talking to a pet mouse which was climbing up and down her shoulder. I looked at her just long enough to give the impression that I'd thought she had been talking to me, but her attention was focused entirely on the mouse. I gave up, bought the collar and left. |
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