the standout

scene: small town thrift store - mid-afternoon

the place is laid out like a department store, with many four sided mini-racks of shirts. the entrance is behind me. i have never been in this town before. i am just passing through.

a forty something woman with short curly blonde hair and glasses attached to a chain searches through the same rack as me and i slow my pace to avoid contact.

there is a row of tie dyed soccer jerseys, as though a whole team had turned them in. i search through each, looking for the luckiest number, the funniest name. a tall blonde boy (a boy, not a man) comes up behind me - i am holding kavic, number 9 - that's the best one he says and somehow i know it was his.

are you swedish he asks, which is the most ridiculous thing a person could ask me.
i shake my head no.
oh, you should be swedish.
"what is exactly is the process for that?" i ask and this kills him.

he laughs and laughs, good-naturedly, for far too long and i stand there mostly pleased with myself, waiting for him to stop. when he finally does, we just stand there, staring at each other from four feet apart, not knowing where to go from here.