Sweaty Betty and the Law of Attraction

No one cried uglier than a university student watching their balance vanish, but that would imply they had enough time to think.

​The city was a magnet for the state of penury; there was graffiti on the walls, saliva on the pavement, and the blue humming light of the police car in the corner of their eyes did not alarm them anymore. They remained equable, no more moved than by the sight of blankets on the street.

​The police had a home inside their vehicles at least. They sat outside the Tescos waiting for someone to steal a packet of crisps, while a man walked into the dentist across from the barbers, where the chairs were made of imitation leather.

​*

​"For one tooth... the cost for just one..."

​"Yes sir, standard rate."

​"Just making sure; my girl wanted me to find her a good dentist. I’ll let her know, thank you."

​He checked his Santander balance and quickly locked the screen. He showed a pained smile, one that gave away the ache of a tooth behind lips. For a man of his standing, the price of a tooth was as hard to swallow as the tooth itself. What was even worse for him was that he pulled the door instead of pushing it.

​"Have a nice day."

​The receptionist held her eyes on the screen before her.

​*

​The graffiti on the walls started as art seen on footpaths when you thought you were alone. Just something you would see and think, oh that looks cool. But you never thought to see it next to high-end stores. It arrived like slugs in the rain, taking over a city in a single splash of spray and stroke. You would never think it.

​Then came the Decorum Act.

​Banned were the ads for the "Last Chance" sales. They claimed that effusive displays and the word "chance" would cause a public panic and the request for anti-depressants would only increase. Then they cleaned the areas by the shops, got rid of shoes with untied laces and someone’s last bite of a sandwich, and replaced the slabs. An ambulance was there that day.

​They claimed, this time, there will be no visual disturbances. The state revealed that only aspirational content could remain. Now, only the insouciant faces of Dior models gazed down from the heights, their hair forever wind-blown and captured by the click of a shutter. On the other side of the city centre, the poor side of the city, were exanimate expensive cars that no one has the keys to. Their prices were in large numbers and that kept the people happy.

​Back at the barbers, the shears clicked ridiculously, rhythmically. Clipping metallically and indifferently. A young man sat in the imitation leather chair, his neck draped in a blue hospital gown looking cape. It smelled like stale talcum. Outside the window, the blue quiescent light of the patrol car swept against the glass; it stained his freckled reflection a sickly colour. He simply watched the mirror as the barber trimmed his sideburns clutching his head a little too hard, but the barber loosened his grip before the young man could form a thought.

​*

​“The usual?”

​The barber asked, his eyes never straying to the flashing emergency.

​“Standard price still, no discount?” The boy asked. “Have you got onto the new GTA servers yet? I’ve been on it for twelve hours straight.”

​His enervated voice was powered by monster drinks and chocolate bars.

​“Yep, and nah,” the barber grunted, the shears clicking near the boy's ear. “No time for games. Just the wife, the rent and yeah… pretty much all there is.”

​*

​The city was blooming with university students, and student flats were being erected every other season. There was a bridge that led away from the supermarket and neighbourhood towards the shops and stores. But each time the residents crossed, it was a reminder to go to the gym by the poster on the side.

​Two girls walked across the wooden plank of the bridge that took years to fix. Their trousers were both baggy for comfort and their handbags were light with air. They wore Primark makeup once, but quickly decided that you get what you pay for, so they wore high-end, and their perfumes were from Dior. They blinked away the memory of the receipt as the rain drizzled.

​The murky water beneath them flowed towards the Waterfront. Where the wooden planks ended, the bridge met the start of the chocolate path and disappeared into the trees. Not that anyone needed to go there; there was nothing to look at.

​"Fuck! I left it, do you have a lip balm?"

​Mallow’s hair hung over her pimpled face, shaded from the light that was coming from the overcast clouds. Varnish tried to fix Mallow’s hair to make her feel beautiful. As they walked, the attempt simply failed.

​"Yeah," Varnish said dryly. She looked ahead, worried that the people behind them would think she was weird.

​"It’s okay if you don’t, what’s buying another..."

​Mallow moved her hair from her face. Her skin now felt like a face peel to the air. When she realised she wasn’t wearing makeup, she moved her hair again, attempting to efface the monstrosity from the city’s view.

​"I got you. Anyways, Raymond is not as hot as he thinks he is."

​Varnish suggested placidly. She was shorter than Mallow and she was flat-chested, but it didn't look as noticeable.

​"Other girls think so... maybe if we dress like them he would notice us."

​They crossed the road and went down the steps. Mallow’s eyes skittered towards the high-end storefront and she felt just as stiff as the figures inside. Caught against the Dior posters, she saw a grotesque mannequin with a stiff posture and a fixed stare. It was her own reflection.

​"We can totally afford Sweaty Betty."

​Varnish spoke with a flat, certain rhythm; she had already spent the money in her head.

​"They must be earning a shit ton."

​Mallow’s voice trailed off as she imagined herself as someone she wasn’t. She was no stranger to the law of attraction, but attracted to the law of what was strange.