The rhythmic *thump-thump* of Billy Ocean’s "Caribbean Queen" vibrates through my Walkman, drowned out only by the screech of a delivery truck and the static of a nearby shop radio reporting that people still refuse to trade stocks from their living rooms. I pull my oversized sweatshirt tight against the October chill, watching a kid frantically click a plastic Transformer into a jet while his mother clutches a loaf of white bread, grumbling that **$0.50** is a steep price for mere flour and water.
Behind me, a girl in neon leg warmers rolls her eyes at her friend’s fluorescent headband, muttering "barf me out" as the mechanical hum of a street-side Macintosh display signals a digital future that feels both imminent and utterly ignored by the rushing crowds.
Memories from that day
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