Short skirts, long looks

Business is slow. Anthony, another retail slave and I are standing by the entrance, people watching. People watching is a great way to pass the time. They become fodder for our boredom-enchanced cruelty.

“Whoa, check out the girl in green.” Anthony exclaims.

My eyes wander over to a pair of women near the escalator. They couldn’t be more than sixteen, seventeen. The one clad in green wears a denim skirt cut off so short I nearly catch a glimpse of what’s underneath.

“I hope she doesn’t drop anything,” I say chivalrously.

We look on in silence for a little longer. I hope no one catches us staring.

The girls walk to the escalator finally, moving their way up to the second floor. I turn my head around to see if we missed any customers. As I return my gaze I see Anthony lift his chin in acknowledgement at the pair.

“Holy shit!” I say. “They caught you looking!”

“They caught us looking,” he corrects.

I try not to look too embarassed. But not too proud either; I don’t want to look like a lecherous perv. We continue to watch them until they reach the top of the escalator and disappear from our view. For a minute neither of us say anything. Then Anthony speaks up.

“Her face was wrecked, though.” he says thoughtfully.