I was on a class trip, or hanging out with a large group of Burnaby high school friends. We were walking to a book store, when one of my friends, Marisa, decided to veer off into a clothing store. I decided to keep her company, from a distance, so I ducked into a store right beside the one she went into. There were clothes and books in this store, and I was the only one in there besides the two women who were whispering between themselves by the cash register. I looked at everything, touching the fabric of the shirts, taking books off the shelves to see the covers and titles and to flip through the pages. I was also taking the business cards sitting around on the bookshelves and window sills for Jordan's collection. The store got crowded, and as I got closer to the storekeepers, I realized they were speaking French. I think I knew what they were saying, but I can't remember now that I'm typing this out. I just remember smiling at them and continuing to browse. I also realized that many of the books, clothes, and business cards in the store were French, since they were French women. All of a sudden, the store became empty again, so I decided to leave, the two women still whispering. I caught up with Marisa, and we went into the bookstore everyone else was in. I found one of my other friends, Nadia, with a friend from my Langley high school, Susan. They were in the part of the store where there were historical artifacts and paintings on the walls, and it was jam-packed. People started to gradually get out, leaving Nadia, Susan, and myself in the little hall. They both saw the books and Nadia asked what they were. I looked down at my hands and realized I had a small pile of smaller pocket books clasped in my hands. It dawned on me that I had probably taken them from the store I had been in earlier, although I knew I had put the books back after looking at them. I freaked out for a second, but then calmed down, telling my friends that it was a funny story and that I had stolen the books from the store I had been in earlier. They didn't seem alarmed, they just looked at my books and continued on their way. Then a guy I used to like in school, Sunil, came over and asked the same thing, why I had books in my hands. I told him the answer and he smiled, taking the books from my hands and flipping through them. And that's when I woke up.
Why didn't the French women stop me? Hm.