That's just unacceptable

You glance over your clothes again. While you don't have any tools handy, there's a few things you can do to alter them to your liking.

The shorts are first. They're as simple as flipping the waistband over itself a few times, which pulls the seam of the shorts snugly into your moist lower lips. It also causes the bottom of your ass to peek out from beneath the hems of the short. One last turn of the waistband lowers it to below the tops of your hipbones. An inch or two of your asscrack is visible out the top of your shorts, and in front, it's just barely over the top of your pubic mound. The extra folds also snug the waistband up nicely, ensuring your shorts stay on without any problems.

You turn your attention to the shirt. The only thing you can do with it is shorten it some more. You decide you want it to end with just a bit of the bottoms of your breasts below the bottom of the shirt. With that in mind, you gauge where you need to tear the shirt off at, then pull it off. A few moments of work yield a small tear that you exploit to quickly rip the bottom of the shirt off.

You toss the few inches of excess material away, then pull the shirt back on. As you tug the bottom back into place, you find you took off a little more than you thought you had. A large portion of your lower breasts are visible below the frayed bottom of the shirt, and there's maybe an inch of material below your nipples. You experimentally bounce up and down, and, sure enough, your breasts pop free of your shirt. Pulling it down again, you walk around the locker room. You gasp a bit in surprise as the seam of your shorts rubs your clit with every stride, sending little thrills through you. Returning to the mirror, you find the bottom edge of your shirt has ridden up just far enough to give hints of your pink areolae beneath it. Eventually it will probably release your breasts just from walking. You grin naughtily. You may have meant to leave it longer, but this will work better than you planned.

You walk out of the locker room, and turn towards the front door. Walking past the front door, you find Tracy seated at her counter again. "Thanks, Tracy," you say in passing, "Call me sometime and I'll tell you what happened."

Tracy's too busy staring at your clothing to respond to that, and you take full advantage of that moment to head out the door, into the bright sunlight.

You debate yet again taking the short path home, or going back the long way. The short path leads through some abandoned factories and warehouses. It's quicker, but you really don't want to learn the veracity of some of the stories about those places. The long way will take you back down the alley, through the park, and past the mall.