As soon as I entered, I immediately realized I had landed in what could be called a "vintage" flea market. I don't know if anyone else calls them that, but that's beside the point. Judging by the assortment displayed here, the people who visited the Chelsea market were highly creative individuals. First and foremost, of course, I'm talking about the fashion-forward youngsters who love vintage items and search for them everywhere.
In my case, the fact that this flea market specialized in such items was a problem. There were much fewer chances that someone would buy my goods since I didn't have anything from the 20th century on me. Nevertheless, it was worth a try. After all, I didn't come here for nothing, right?
After finding the stall I needed, I took a spot on the other side of the aisle and tossed my backpack onto a simple wooden table. Should I go introduce myself to my neighbors? After a few minutes of observation, I realized it didn't matter. The neighbor on my right, a slightly disheveled man, was engrossed in burning a pattern into a wooden plaque, completely ignoring the reality around him. He didn't even acknowledge the people standing in front of his stall.
The woman on my left was deep in the realm of Morpheus, and I didn't feel like waking her. Fine, I didn't come here to make friends. Opening my backpack, I pulled out a cosmetic bag and began laying its contents on the table. Items that showed clear signs of use went straight into the trash, and I sorted the rest, mentally estimating their prices.
Ideally, I should've walked around the market first to see if there were any similar items. If I found something, I could compare prices. But I decided to skip that. As soon as I picked up an item, the price would pop up in my memory. It seemed that the memory of the previous owner of the body remained with me, albeit partially, because the trick didn't always work.
The heat outside started to subside as the evening drew near, and the number of people wandering between the stalls increased. Unfortunately, most of them walked past my stall, casting only a brief glance at my modest offerings.
I managed to sell only a sealed lipstick. The chatty young lady didn't even try to hide the fact that she was buying it for her "future" boyfriend. The only thing that made me happy about this transaction was that she handed over the requested amount without haggling. That meant the people coming here weren't poor. You could tell that from the start—the Chelsea market area was pretty wealthy.
After earning twenty bucks, I risked leaving my stuff on the stall and stepping away to grab something to eat. I was starving, so I devoured two hot dogs in the blink of an eye! Ha, I even had one left over, though I can feel it won't last long. My hungry stomach is going to take care of it soon enough!
When I returned to my stall, a woman in her forties was waiting for me. The slightly upturned tip of her nose added a certain charm to her appearance, and her long, dark blonde hair cascaded almost to her waist. If I had to describe her in one word, I'd call her a "vixen"!
"Oh, is this your stuff?" she asked with a smile.
There was a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and she was clearly eyeing me with anything but a maternal gaze. I wouldn't call myself a fan of older women, but I'd be more than happy to roll in the hay with her!
Damn Archie, you'll answer for all of this! Even if you retire, I'll still find you and make you atone for such a trick!
"Is something catching your eye?" I asked, embarrassedly flubbing the question.
"Oh, definitely," she replied, licking her lips and staring at my face intently. "Definitely…"
My foolish body didn't listen to me and acted on its own. I'm sure I turned red from my pinky toes all the way to my ears. No matter how experienced travelers between worlds like myself are, we still face certain difficulties. For instance, the initial adaptation to a new body, dull emotions after completing a mission in a previous world, "fading" memories, and so on.
Right now, I was struggling with the first and third issues. I think it's unnecessary to explain what initial adaptation is—it's pretty obvious. A new body doesn't always react the way you're used to with your old one, and it almost certainly doesn't have the cool abilities you developed in the past world through blood, sweat, and tears. The "fading" of memories is worth mentioning a bit more.
If I tried to estimate how many years I've lived in total, it would clearly be a three-digit number. Yeah, not too much. But my first attempt was too short, the second not much better. The third and fourth lives were more or less successful, but I was pulled out right after completing the task. It wasn't until the fifth life that I managed to live to a proper old age!
So, what am I getting at? I've lived quite a bit, and logically, I should have been a mature, experienced old man in the body of a young guy. Let's ignore the fact that older people tend to suffer from senility. Let's assume that the longer you live, the more life experience you gain, and eventually, you become so enlightened that you could teach Buddha a thing or two about life.
Unfortunately, that's not how it works. Well, very few people manage that, and newcomers aren't an exception. Very rarely do we reach enlightenment—instead, we have a specific protective mechanism that makes us so unique. The thing is, no matter how many years and lives we've lived, each one is perceived as something new.
Old experiences tend to fade—not exactly forgotten, but close. This is how our brain prevents overload—it archives old data. It doesn't erase it completely, but right now it's hard for me to remember how I felt when I failed my first mission. I remember why it happened, but I'm not too concerned about it. It feels like it wasn't even me who experienced it.
"So, what were you looking for?" I asked, stumbling like a schoolboy. I couldn't wait for the body to adapt!
"This perfume," the woman said, leaning back a bit. Apparently, she realized she had been pressuring me too much and decided to pull back a bit. "I think it should be perfect for Petra. How much are you asking for it?"
When it came to bargaining, I was able to control my body a little better. The bottle of expensive, brand-name perfume was barely used, so I was hoping to get a good price for it.
"My mom gave it to me. I almost never used it, kept it as a keepsake, so I think twenty bucks would be just right."
"Kept it as a keepsake?" she said, surprised. "Your mom, she…"
"She passed away," I said, lowering my gaze and lying. A little lie won't destroy the world, but it'll help me balance my budget. "It's okay, don't mind me, I've come to terms with it."
"Then, are you sure you want to sell it?" the woman asked, forgetting she had just been trying to seduce me. Her maternal instincts kicked in, and she immediately felt a more genuine sympathy for me, rather than desire.
"I really need the money," I shrugged. "Besides, my mom always said we shouldn't hold on to the past."
The blonde woman silently placed three ten-dollar bills on the counter. I shook my head and took only two of them. If I were in a truly awful situation, I could have gotten money more easily but in a less legal way. I didn't want to start my new day of endless travel with fraud. It's one thing to tell a small lie to guarantee a sale, but it's another to take more than what's due.
The woman hid the perfume and, after a few seconds of hesitation, finally spoke up.
"Listen, I don't know why you need money or the situation you're in, but can I give you some advice? It might be obvious to you, but still…"
"Please," I said politely, mentally calculating whether I had enough money to rent a hostel or some other budget place.
"You look old enough to be a donor. You know what I mean?"
"Donor?" Honestly, I didn't understand. Does human blood cost that much here?
"Sperm donor," she said, slightly blushing. "One of my friends works at a hospital, and she told me that men can make good money by donating their genetic material every now and then."
Damn narwhals! Why didn't I think of this earlier! It's so obvious! Anyone could have figured this out! What a fool I am. In a world like this, where men are few and far between, where hungry women are eager to swap their rubber toys for real horns made of flesh and blood, there's clearly a demand for sperm donors! And if that's the case, it should be worth a fortune!
"Th-thank you for the advice," I stammered, shaking my head and adding,
"Thank you! Miss…?"
"May. Just call me May," the woman introduced herself kindly.
"You've really helped me, May! Thanks again!"
She seemed pleased with herself for giving such an important yet obvious piece of advice. Her maternal instincts faded, and I saw the mischievous gleam return to her eyes. But there was no time to flirt—I had to get to the nearest hospital and check the prices.
After tossing the remaining items onto my backpack, I shoved the cash in my pocket and hurried to leave the Chelsea flea market.
The security guard at the entrance was still glued to her smartphone, so I slipped past her without drawing attention. Women here were too persistent, and I was sure if the lady noticed me, she'd have made a beeline for me. Forget that. I'm an anime fan at heart, and I couldn't care less about these 3D girls. I'd rather jerk off to some black-and-white hentai manga and make some cash!
Someone grabbed me by the forearm and dragged me into the parking lot. I didn't even have time to scream before I was wedged between two minivans! Looking up, I met two golden wells. A medium-height, fiery red-haired beauty released my shoulder and showed me her open palms.
"What do you want?" I frowned, trying to understand how I ended up in such a situation. I'd been caught like a complete rookie!
"Ha-ha, sorry for dragging you out here, away from prying eyes, but I heard you need money. If that's the case, I've got a job for you," the redhead with unusual eyes said, seductively unbuttoning the top button of her white shirt.