The wind cuts straight through the thin fabric, and you grips your arms tighter, staring at the dark window of a closed shop. Of course it’s cold. Of course you didn’t check the weather. The outfit felt right in you room now it just feels stupid, too noticeable, too much.

You shift weight, wishing you could disappear into the pavement, silently cursing yourself for every choice that led to this exact moment on this exact street.

You hear

"It looks pretty."