Pissville

When Maggie woke up, he was already in the kitchen. She stretched and lay there for a moment trying to seperate reality from...well, everything else. She shuffled in, not knowing what to expect. After all, what do dead people eat for breakfast? It turns out that, in this case, they usually have coffee and toast. The toaster was huge and shaped like a silverstream trailer. She studied her reflection in it, the way it made her hands and coffee mug huge in relation to her hair. Her hair, by the way, was badly in need of a brush.
Mike was mostly silent. After asking her how she slept, he went back to reading a book about architecture. Then, tentatively, he asked, "What do you want to shop for first?"
"I don't know, how 'bout a brush and then some clothes"

They went down the silent streets. It was still early. He parked in a square next to a fountain. The shopping district in his neighborhood was old with narrow cobblestone streets. There were malls nearby, but he preferred this, thought it was like something from Seville, which it was. There were shops open with incense and inlaid furniture. In the small alleys were racks of rich carpets and belts. Right next to a shop selling copper trays and hookahs was his favorite store. (He still would not admit he enjoyed shopping as it was something a man of his era would never openly advertise.)
Gus and Armand had shops that blended into each other. On the one side, Gus had suits and shirts overflowing. A lot of them were western style shirts and bolo ties that Mike never had the nerve to buy, but he always lingered over them. In a corner, there was a long table filled with shoes. Black shiny wingtips like precious beetles, Old low quarter shoes in the original G.I. shoe boxes, Doc Martens loitering in agressive clusters, and in the middle, as always, the best cowboy boots in the universe. These boots were made by Gus who always took his time, because, as he said, he had all the time in the world.
Gus was tall and thin with an open handsome face. His eyes were blue and bright. When he spoke, which was rarely, he was quiet and friendly with his cowboy charm. Armand was the other side of the scale. He was huge and verbose. He had the shoulders of a wrestler and he always wore shiny pomade which made him look operatic. His suits were cut beautifully and made from material that came from the finest time periods. There was an understated richness to them. The herringbone or sharkskin was always an nth degree more textured and the colors were pure.
Mike began to regret this detour. He felt he wanted to show Maggie something secret and unique, but instead brought her to this jumble which would hold nothing of interest for her.
Armand must have sensed this.
" Oh Mike, you make my store look like a flea market when you bring a lovely woman..but no, ,I have it now, come here" he said pointing to Maggie who was tentatively smiling with a rosy blush on her cheek.
Armand showed her outfits that appeared like magic from his battered old armoires. There were classic a-line skirts and blouses that went from honest, crisp cotton to silk. When he showed her a slinky red sequined dress, she demurred. She gazed in wonder at it all. When she asked to try them on, Gus said "Go on, but he never picks a wrong one."
Finally, without being coy, Armand opened a luxurious lacquered box with dragons on it.
"My gift, for the first time customer a little nothing" She gasped. It wasn't a little nothing. It was an ivory and gold brush and comb set. "No, aw c'mon..you're pulling my leg, right?"
"I insist." It was truly a gracious gesture. Mike felt kind of outdone and foolish.
In the end, he ended up buying two sky blue shirts which he didn't need, and a pair of chinos. He swiped his card for all their swag. They walked back to the car and put the packages on the back seat. "Mike, I truly will pay you back. How much was it?"
" I don't know. It's only money and I know you will...It's OK"
They went back to the shops.
She ending up getting some blue jeans and some sweats and T-shirts. Mike wasn't sure about some of her choices. After all, women in dungarees was kind of strange to him.
The entire time, he found himself looking at her entirely too much, The way her hands flitted like birds along the fabric of a skirt, the back of her neck as she bent her head down to take a closer look at a pair of shoes. These were feelings he hadn't had since he got hit by that bus.
Maggie was only dimly aware of all this. To her, the whole situation still had that feel of a waking dream. She did consider him, though, the way she considered any decent, handsome men she spent time with, what few there were. He didn't give off the waves of horniness and selfishness that so many others did. The way he befriended her and the way he seemed to truly care for her as a person went a long way towards off setting his lumpy, awkward personality.
Still, she supposed she better get her life or whatever it was that passed for it, together before she thought about any of that.
Mike was happy, when all was said and done. He actually had a friend. He didn't want to mess that up.

When they returned, they put away their packages. She tried on her new gear, asking him for his opinion on this or that. He didn't have the heart to tell her that there was no real stringent dress code and that Jenny had once shown up wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bra. Florian did draw the line at that and told her that wearing landscaping materials and produce might be violating some corporate code somewhere.
He also felt obliged to try on his own purchases as drab as they were.
She played sudoku, which gave him a headache once he was enticed away from his crossword puzzle and tried it.
Later, they went bowling where she proceeded to school him on the art of losing.