I’ve got my nose lodged in a rack of other people’s clothes when my best friend taps me on the shoulder frantically.
“How about this one?” Abigail asks, shoving a dead cat into my arms.
“Ew.” I jump back and nearly knock over a row of vintage dresses with yellowing sleeves and a certain old-lady smell to their armpits.
“Relax, Cham, it’s rabbit.” Abigail sniffs the collar and wrinkles her nose. “Or was rabbit.”