Collide. Megan Hart

Down the street,” I added. “Number forty-three.”

      Word vomit. I was about to fall prey to its insidiousness. Fortunately, Johnny cut me off before I could spew out anything really embarrassing, like an offer to take him home and fuck him until we both saw stars. Unfortunately, he also stood in a way that made it obvious I was supposed to leave.

      I paused on the front porch. “Thanks, Mr. Dellasandro.”

      He’d kiss me now, I knew it. Or I’d kiss him. He’d push me up against the wall and put his hand under my skirt. We’d fuck right there on the stairs… .

      “Be more careful out there,” Johnny said, and closed the door in my face.

      He hadn’t even asked my name.

      “You didn’t.” Jen sounded horrified and fascinated at the same time. “He took you into his house? And gave you a cookie? Damn, girl … did he ask you to sit on his lap, too?”

      “No, God, no. Too bad.”

      “Really.” She shook her head and held up a skirt she’d pulled off the rack. “What do you think of this?”

      “Hideously ugly.” I fingered the fabric, a polyester blend in shades of orange and green. “And yet appealing.”

      “I know, right? How about this?” She held up a dress, which had been made to look like a shirt and skirt but was really one piece. “It has a matching belt.”

      “And it’s half off,” I said with a glance at the tag. Wednesdays were price-reduction days at the Salvation Army. Jen and I had made it a weekly date. “Where are you going to wear it?”

      “Oh. To work, I guess. With a pair of supercute boots. Maybe hem the skirt a little. I love the sleeves.”

      The sleeves were pretty awesome, cuffed tight at the wrists with the rest blousy. It wasn’t a look I thought I could pull off, but it would suit her. “It’s artistic.”

      “You think so?” She held up the dress again. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

      She put it in the cart and we inched down the aisle. The store was always crammed with shoppers on Wednesdays, making it nearly impossible to navigate with a wonky-wheeled cart unless we both maneuvered it. I pulled out a sleek black dress with a scoop neck and an A-line hem. It also had a glittery broach. Bonus! I stuck it in the cart, even though I had no place to wear a dress like that. At five bucks, half off, I couldn’t resist.

      “Cute,” Jen commented. “But listen, tell me more about Johnny. What’s his house like? Did he come on to you?”

      “Gorgeous. And no way. If anything, he couldn’t wait to get me out of there.”

      “Bummer.” Jen pulled a blue sleeveless tank dress from the rack. “This is a great color.”

      “Yeah. I guess I couldn’t be surprised. I mean, I did nearly knock him over on the street like a huge, giant doofus.”

      Jen laughed. “But you managed not to ask him if you could bite his epic ass, right?”

      “At least there’s that. Hey, I’m heading over to the shirts.” I couldn’t look at any more dresses. I’d end up spending twenty bucks on vintage finery I’d never wear.

      I have a theory about thrift-store shopping. I’ve spent hours going from store to store in search of something specific, but I’ve never gone away from a thrift store empty-handed. For whatever reason, whenever I shop at a thrift store, no matter what I want, I find it. When I wanted an emerald-green cardigan sweater, an item that was both out of season and not in a trendy color, I found the perfect one at the Salvation Army. When I needed a jean jacket to replace the one I’d left behind in a hotel, I had my choice of ten or so from the local church bargain basement store. I think there’s some higher consciousness involved, or maybe it’s a matter of perception that allows your eyes to be opened at just the right time. To see things you wouldn’t have noticed before.