I’m hunched over the counter in my oversized sweatshirt, eyes stinging from the neon glare of the mall as Cyndi Lauper’s voice drifts through the humid air. I just spent my last few bucks on this Soundwave figure, and watching him click from a microcassette recorder into a robot is seriously fresh.
The headlines on the crumpled paper nearby are shouting about tankers in the Gulf, but honestly, I’m just trying to keep my leg warmers from slipping. I need to get home before my dad sees the price tag on these Transformers; he’ll flip if he realizes I blew my gas money on plastic.
Memories from that day
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