The July sun bakes the sidewalk, making the spandex leggings on the girls passing by look like a shimmering second skin. I adjust my grip on the Nikon, my thumb brushing against the stiff, cold plastic of a Transformer toy sticking out of a kid’s oversized sweatshirt pocket.
It’s def a scorcher, and the line for the *Purple Rain* matinee is already wrapping around the block in a blur of sweat-soaked headbands. I can practically feel the grit of the city settling into the seams of my denim jacket as everyone waits to see Prince on the big screen.
Memories from that day
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