I tug at the rough edge of my oversized flannel, the wool Scratching my neck as I stare at the empty shelves where the Super Nintendo should be. It’s a lame feeling, standing here in my worn Doc Martens while the radio blares that the Philadelphia justice system is overwhelmed and the cost of a simple loaf of bread has climbed to seventy cents.
The humidity clings to these thermal layers, but I can’t stop checking the crumpled bills in my pocket. Everything feels fragile and overstretched today, like the thin soles of my ripped jeans or the frayed wires of this city.
Memories from that day
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