As per routine, Carmen stopped by the local thrift once a week. Thursday. That’s when they put new stock out, obviously, and Carmen knew about 20 other collectors in the area who’d try and get there first.

He was diligent about it, always showing up at the same time, scouring the rack of old second-hand denim. Yet, lately, his gaze was drifting.. finding himself staring at the attendant who always seemed to be there whenever he was. Carmen wasn’t one for unnecessary social interactions, but he knew when someone caught his eye, when someone was so blatantly cute.

Not that he’d ever say anything, of course. While in this store, he wasn’t a critically acclaimed chef, he wasn’t respected and renowned for his talent: no, he was just a customer, just some weirdo who collected jeans.