I’m hunched over the counter in my oversized flannel, squinting at the neon glow of the shop's TV news while I fish for a crinkled dollar; it’s a total buzzkill that a simple loaf of bread has climbed to $0.70 when I need every cent for a new SNES.
The gray glare of May afternoon light catches the scuffs on my Doc Martens as Sinéad O’Connor wails from the overhead speakers. My older brother calls me a slacker for lingering, but I’m just staring at the jagged silhouette of my ripped jeans, wondering if the world outside is changing as fast as the static on the screen.
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