Oddjobs and cods

My shop, it floats geometrically in a spacial arcade, the windows glinting with clitoris lights. I sell clothes, but not just any clothes. Come to me and I will provide you with a lucky dip of puke stains, piss smells and old sweat-dust. Each piece has been specially prepared by a seperate personage who will be unknown to the buyer. The colours swirl and sparkle in patterns new yet somehow familiar.

I have not had this job long. A lifetime. A few minutes. It is strange to be anchored in space, for one who is used to being constantly on the move. I am forced to allow people to come to me, rather than running always away from them. I am the fish.