This afternoon, at Goodwill, wondering if I should buy the black Ben Sherman hat without a price tag or not, I'm ambushed by my own personal stylist:
a tall, lanky, elderly black man, with bloodshot eyes, in baggy chinos, a snazzy blazer and a beautiful, new feathered fedora.
"Oooo, yeah, that there's a good hat. You could pimp that baby
up reeeeeeal nice. Lemme show you."
(he puts it on my head and manipulates it into a jaunty angle)
"Go look in the mirror. Yeeeeeeah, dat look nice. Now looka hyuh."
(brings me long brown leather coat, c. 1979, offers it to me.)
"Oh, and dese the shoes you be needin'"
(points to the ones in his cart, size 11 black and white spectator shoes).
"But I ain't lettin' you have dem. Nope. I gots to get some of the women for myself now, you know. "
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