Isaac stuck his head out of his tent, the crisp desert air invading his tent.
"Clothes?" Isaac kept his eyes closed while holding tightly to the zipper of the door, "Clothes, clothes, clothes."
He turned his head towards the horizon, the sun barely glimmering as it began to crest above the line. He then turned his view towards the faint glow of the city
why so early
"Alright, I have an idea." Isaac zipped his tent back up and sat in the center of his tent, bundled up in blankets, and began to think of local clothing stores near where his apartment was. Isaac longed to be in his own bed, but he thought of the days of running around, while knees deep in mischief, daily.
As Isaac closed his eyes to think of where to get decent clothes from, he almost forgot,
"There's coffee and breakfast stuff in the small cooler in the truck!" He projected from his tent.
As he lowered his head, he blinked into a view of a person just a few blocks away from his apartment.
"This will work easier than expected" Isaac and the host said simultaneously. The host appeared to be a middle aged woman, an odd soccer mom haircut, and a large purse with nothing but a check book, a few platinum credit cards, and a bible the size of a small suitcase, dotted with rhinestones and gold rimmed. An uneasy feeling spread over Isaac as he noticed that the host was dressed almost too modest. A long, thick wool skirt, flats, turquoise studded jewelry, and a sweater top too warm and scratchy for Mid-September.
Fuck it, might as well Isaac thought to himself, walking towards the nearest outlet mall, a small clothing store with cheap clothes and accessories.
"Hello ma'am, if you have any questions, just holler." The unenthusiastic clerk chimed between gum popping clicks.
"Ma'am? Shit, right." Isaac quickly retorted as he adjusted the host's skirt in a form-of-habit feel. He had never had to adjust many articles of clothing, let alone a skirt. Most of the time, his clothes fit well enough to conform to Isaac no matter what.
Old habits die hard, I suppose
Isaac went around grabbing jackets, jeans, tank tops, socks, underwear, and just about anything they need or could need. Half way through, Isaac went from tossing clothes over the host's shoulder to snagging a cart while another shopper wasn't looking and filling the cart to the brim and more. The poor clerk at the check-out counter sighed and began scanning without even bothering to fold the clothes, and tossed them into bags. The manager standing nearby gave a slightly disgusted face to the host, but quickly forced a smile. The store had just opened, and was emptying everything.
The host looked at the manager and meekly smiled "Growing boys?"
"Sure, of course, I guess you wanna clear most of the men's area."
"668.35, ma'am." The clerk muttered as the host put all the bags back into the cart.
"Oh, of course." The host spoke, placing the last bag tightly, and pulled out her check book.
"UH, MA'AM, we don't take checks."
"Shit." Isaac muttered, the host speaking too.
The host pulled out a small platinum card with the phrase inscribed on it "Big heart, big hair, tease it to Jesus!" with a woman dressed from the 1960's with a massive beehive hairdo. Isaac sighed, and handed the card to the clerk.
The clerk made a loud annoyed noise, "We don't accept that card."
"You gotta be fu--, ok." The host spat as the host shuffled through the small card pocket. They were all the same brand.
"MA'AM, you're holdin' up the line." The clerk hissed
The host locked eyes with the clerk, "Then fuck you."
The host grabbed the cart and dashed for the door. As the manager began to step in-front of the cart, Isaac made the host grab the bible out of the purse and threw it as hard as the host could at the manager, hitting him square in the nose. The host ran past with the cart yelling "JESUS FORGIVES BITCH."
And continued to bolt down the road to where Isaac had first infected the host.
There's gotta be a car near by. OH, damn, keys.
Isaac quickly dug into the purse, whipped out keys, and honked the horn. After finding the car in a small parking lot, a family size mini-van, the host slid the car door open and tossed bags.
"Ma'am." A stern voice spoke from behind the host, and the host turned to see a man wearing a "Park Mall Security" badge.
"You wouldn't happen to know about an assault at a local clothing store, wouldya?"
"Whaaa? Me? I don't know any-" The host then punched the security guard in the throat and pushed him out of the way.
The host sat in the car, revved the engine, and peeled out of the small parking lot, leaving the guard staggering up and catching his breath. Driving down the road, Isaac noticed a small polaroid of the host, with a Yorkie and Chihuahua snuggled close, almost suffocating under a wool jacket.
Almost 45 minutes later, a loud honk pierced the calm desert morning, and the sound of rocks and pebbles flying across burning rubber and a peel out of a mini-van.
Isaac slowly got out of his tent and rubbed his eyes, nudging his foot on Ryan's tent and patting Louis on the shoulder, yawning,
"Clothes are down the road."