Pulp Fiction Shirt Vintage Novels & Stories

“WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?!” “Whatever do you mean, brother? How would I know? Aren’t those shirts right there?” She said, pointing at the open luggage and feigning innocence. The shirts are in neon colors: pink, green, orange, and yellow. Jude picks up one of the shirts, and the logo reads, ‘GIRLS WANNA HAVE FUN!’ Then he picks up another one, and it has a teddy bear riding a unicorn. Not to mention, they all look a size too small.

As long as I don’t pant, I’ll be fine. There’s a detail around the neckline and sleeves that made me choose it. It’s a loose blue micro plaid pattern that gives off the vibe that I’m wearing a man’s work shirt under my dress when I’m not. It’s actually attached to the dress. The neckline is folded, the shirt collar dipped around my breast, forming this V shape that made everything look good.

Almond colored eyes registered shock, as did his gasp and the way he dramatically put his hand on his chest. I couldn't help the laugh that started in my belly and bubbled into my throat. "Where's your poofy shirt and pantaloons?" I asked, following him into the kitchen. He had on a getup similar to mine, baggy jeans, and a vintage shirt. His tee-shirt was black and had AC-DC across the chest. Pulling open a door on the large side-by-side stainless steel refrigerator, he grabbed a soda and popped the top. "You want one?"

He looks at me then, really looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time. I ignore his look and walked over to the heap of clothes in a corner. I walk over and pick the shirt he was wearing earlier, holding it to the light. The dark blue henley is shredded at the back, long tears that look like... claw marks.

Bianca looked apologetically at Frost's shirt, knowing that it must be expensive and custom-made, with the bottom embroidered with a floral letter "L" "Usually, I can wear my shirt three times, but now I can get a new one ahead of schedule!" Frost replied. "That's so wasteful! Take it off, I promise to clean it for you, at least another 30 times!" Although this behaviour had never belonged to Frost, he still cooperated and took off his shirt, revealing a white short-sleeved T-shirt made of island cotton underneath, which clung to his lean figure. However, Bianca had cried so hard just now that her tears and snot had seeped through the shirt and dirtied the T-shirt.

The gruesome state of the corpse was almost too much to bear. He was wearing a light gray checkered shirt, which looked very old and had been worn for a long time. It was my favorite shirt, given to me as a birthday present by Nelissa four years ago. Those people had actually thrown my body on the street, openly taunting the police.

I usually wore black, blue, once in a while grey, but not often. Then the shirt. It was black. Silk. Collared and short-sleeved. My shirts, my formal shirts, were all long-sleeved, cotton, white, blue, the odd pink, but no black. The material was mostly cotton, maybe a mix of rayon or other synthetic blend, but not silk. I had possibly never worn that make of cloth in my life. It was clear that the jacket was supposed to come off at some point. Why else would the inner shirt be short-sleeved? Why would it be so fitted?

He made sure to clean them well and dried the spot with the small towel the lady handed him. Nico gently rinsed the shirt he was wearing when he awakened. It was his usual black t-shirt, but it looked worn out. Just immersing in water, it started to come apart. Lifting the torn shirt, he sighed. “This is what happened when you try to wash a thousand-year-old shirt…” he tossed it out the window and laid down in just his pant. Thankfully, the jean material handled being buried with him well. He unbuttoned the pant and laid there peering at the ceiling.

No more excuses. And if I'm going to be a better, stronger person, I can start by sucking it up and dealing with these T-shirts already. Even if every time I see that stupid embroidered "Huntington Manor" logo I feel like I'm being stabbed in the gut. I get to work, making my way through an entire pile of hot pink shirts and half a pile of the electric purple ones before I find my gaze drifting back over to Ward.

Then, using the corner of his previously discarded outer coat, he wiped her hands clean. Jepherson took off shirt and coat, and slung it over his shoulders. The wind blew past but there was no unpleasant smell of sweat. Instead, there was a faint fragrance of fresh flowers. Raeleigh's big and watery eyes landed on Jepherson's white shirt. The design looked simple enough but every part of the shirt was hand-stitched, which hinted at the expensive price tag of the shirt. This was probably why under wet or even sweaty conditions, a light fragrance could be smelled, instead of the unpleasant odour of sweat.