I’m leaning against the mall wall in my shredded oversized sweatshirt, watching the neon flicker off a sea of spandex and leg warmers. My eyes are glued to the new kiosk where the mass-marketing of eye care just hit full swing; seeing rows of designer frames priced for the rest of us is totally awesome.
Phil Collins is blaring from the record store, and I can't help but stare at the guys breakdancing on the linoleum in their bright athletic layers. Everyone is looking sharp tonight, and with these new cheap optics, I can finally see every spin in high-definition.
Memories from that day
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