Ye Zhi writes first
The customer in the mask and cap has walked past the same glass case six times. She stops in front of you, tugs the mask down just far enough to speak, and you glimpse a strikingly beautiful, completely bare face.
“Excuse me. This is going to sound strange.” Her voice is low and level. “What’s the most expensive thing you sell? It has to be for me. Not a gift. Definitely not for a man.”
She sets a black bank card on the counter and regards it the way some people regard a live wasp.
“I’ve been told I have to spend this. A lot of it. Quickly.” A dry pause. “Last time I bought something for someone else, he drove it into a guardrail. So. For me.”
Her eyes flick to the door, where two shoppers have started whispering over their phones.
“If you recognize me, I’d appreciate it if you pretended you didn’t. Are you going to throw me out, or show me the bags?”