Teenage Dirtbag Outfit Novels & Stories

"If you look at the bags, you will find one with your number on it. The bag contains clothes, towels, and all the other necessities." I walked up to the bags and found my number. My bed was on the left side next to the window. My view was quite depressing. It showed me an open yard where teenagers were hanging out. But it didn't look nice. It was all paved and another fence was around it, with a lot of security present. I wondered why. You could see they have uniforms here. The boys wore light grey uniforms and girls light green. The uniforms were kind of prison uniforms, but they also reminded me of something you would wear in a hospital.

Johannesburg. Four weeks later. That damn dog wouldn’t be able to fight its way out of a paper packet, never mind protect his Lizzy. Johnny watched her mom’s little rat dog take a shit on the sidewalk, before his blonde beauty bent over with a poop bag to sweep up the steaming parcel. Johnny paused to take in the spectacular view that was Lizzy’s incredible ass. Perky butt cheeks shaped beautifully by faded skinny jeans. Her retro outfit included a Michael Jackson “Thriller” T-shirt, silver sneakers, fire-engine lipstick and a bandana holding back curls.

He was perhaps seven years old, though he was so small and painfully thin it was hard to tell. He was entirely dishevelled. His thick, dirt-matted blonde hair fell into his eyes in a tangled, greasy mess. His clothes - a faded grey jumper that was three sizes too big and a pair of tracksuit bottoms frayed at the ankles - were torn and caked in a thick layer of dried mud. He was shivering, his thin frame vibrating against the damp chill that seeped up from the earth, but he made no move to find warmth. Warmth was not something he was accustomed to. In his bruised, freezing hands, he clutched his only worldly possession: a small, battered yellow plastic digger, missing one of its back wheels.

“So it needs to go.” I thought I looked like I’d just stepped off an eighties workout video with the baggy cropped sweatshirt over a black tank top, but I had to admit it was nice to know he appreciated my style. I liked my quirky fashion sense too. Glad he appreciated what he saw, I gave a single nod. “Alright, then. Let’s go find something better suited for some illegal tagging activity.”

I cant let those gentlemen see me with blood stains all over my shirt. I have to put on something less bloody and more casual. he said opening the trunk of the car. Nice! They are certainly not of my standards, but if I have to put on these rags just so I can get in unnoticed as a normal person, I shall. said Charles picking up a torn T-shirt, a ripped jean trouser with dirt stains all over and a worn out flip flops he found at the trunk of the car.

said Enzir. “Yes, Jad Enzir,” said Gent, bowing slightly. He then took out a rucksack and placed its contents on his lap. “Here. Courtesy of the Dagos Drama Society,” he said as he offered the contents of the rucksack to Enzir. The contents of the rucksack included a couple of matching clothes as well as a blonde wig. Enzir immediately picked a green shirt and dark brown pants that would make him blend well with the local people. Lankko took the remaining clothes, a shirt of garish red and bright purple trousers, as well as the blonde wig.

I will kill Sophia so we can both be together. I smiled as I looked at myself through the mirror. The person I've become as a result of all these. I lived all my life in a shadow of my personality, but no more. Tony will regret ever thinking to dump me... I wore a round neck half tank top that exposed my navel with a high waist black Jean hippie pant. I wore my blue Jean baggie jacket and headed out of the house in my snazzy sneakers... "Where to?" Mom asked and I just smiled.

The next bag had three sets of underwear, a white set with inbuilt push-ups and matching boy legs, the same set in black, and a dark red set made of sheer lace with a matching g-string. "Your pick or hers?" I asked, showing him with a raised eyebrow. He held his hands up, palms out. "All I did was sit there." I emptied out the third bag. Four singlets, white, grey, green and a burnt orange fell out, followed by a red tartan mini skirt, pink halter top and a yellow spaghetti strap dress. The skirt was fugly, the halter liveable, if outside my usual pick of colour, and the dress was just plain scary. I didn't do dresses, especially flowing, girly ones like this one. Well, not besides my newly

Gleaming four-wheel drives, and little convertibles, and pushbikes, with a garish company cycle for life poster on the side of the bike rack. Mine was the only heap of crap cars there. I was wearing my worst jeans on purpose, the ones with holes in the knees. I was wearing my most faded shitty t-shirt, too, once bright pink with ‘4uk me, baby’ on the front. And I had my scuffed pumps on.

I changed my clothes and dumped the present ones in the dustbin. I looked at myself one last time before heading out. I look great not gonna lie. Black suits me but I do look a bit homeless too, well that was kinda the point. I had almost forgotten one thing, I dig into the bag and pull out fake gasses. I picked it up for a dollar from the grocery store. I cut the price tag and put it on. If I must say, I didn’t recognize myself in my homeless/not-Courtney look. What I liked was my hair, it made me feel like a different person.