Well, I've certainly been on the lookout for leggings.
I told myself this as I entered the small clothing shop on 14th St. It was a Saturday afternoon in Union Square when I spotted the rack of navy, brown, and black. '$3.99' was scrawled in cardboard. I chose a pair in black and headed toward the register to pay.
The second I stepped inside I heard her voice. An older Asian woman, perhaps in her fifties, held a phone to her face and manned the register in the back. She spoke in loud and brusque Korean, sans affectation. I imagined she was talking to her sister on a different continent. Or an old friend.
Or a daughter.
As I brought the pair of leggings up to the counter her voice lowered slightly in acknowledgement. Polite, I noted. She held up four fingers. I reached for my wallet, and waited for the questions that would inevitably follow.