The rhythmic *thwack-thwack* of a Walkman’s rewind button competes with the frantic chatter of brokers outside the bank, their voices tight with anxiety over the Dow’s fifteen-point slide. I lean against the brick, my oversized sweatshirt damp from the humidity, listening to the synthesized longing of Cyndi Lauper bleeding through a passerby’s cheap foam headphones.
Everyone just needs to chill, but the city is vibrating with the neon hum of a new era. I can still hear the crowded cinema's roar from last night—that infectious *Ghostbusters* theme song echoing over the screech of yellow taxis and the digital chirps of a world being rewritten in silicon.
Memories from that day
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