Bizarre Feelings in the Great Brea Bazaar

An envelope was delivered to me tucked under the window shield of my car in a parking garage near my work. It was a tightly packed envelope, almost bursting. It was full of pictures of different mannequins in department stores. A photocopy of a hand holding the envelope itself was the first amongst the pictures.

It asked to be listed as is. For - Red Henley

The faces from the people blur together slowly losing distinctiveness. Hurriedly they move from shop to shop not buying a thing, not even stopping to share their peculiar stares. Each face tells me of my parasitic nature, creating a lump on the hide while draining the great American organism. Stuck like a mosquito in amber, I feed on life yet this world leaves me paralyzed and starving.
My own peculiar stare reflects back a dream of myself in the fine cloth behind the window. Imagine if I did not appear holey and stained? Then lost would be my final possession, honesty. They see my soul on these pants and this shirt, holy yet stained.
The slow dawning (waking me from the dream) of the mannequin's face beneath my own reminds me I am not alone, and must keep moving.
A man calls for me from his small booth of novelty shirts and phone casings. As I approach his eyes look through me to the family pushing past, eager for the redemption of purchase (without the retail price). He says the clothes are from the far east and of fine qualities, while their little boy watches a toy monkey do a dance.
Finding seats unattended and rest required, they do fine wonders for my weary legs. A scan reveals the truth of many empty hands and a lonely cafeteria. The chatting of the young women behind me confirms my knowledge. Hard times. Even in this blessed of markets the appearance is more valued than purpose, I lack one and am completely without the other.
In their temple I am a heathen, come to watch the faithful worship but not believe. No wonder my soul is gripped by loneliness.
As if to answer my religious anxieties, two men walk up from behind me.
“Sir, we are gonna have to ask you to leave”.