The neon glow of the convenience store window glares off those damn Pogs, three bucks a pack now just for cardboard circles while gas hits a buck-fifteen. My eyes dart from the headline about the OJ trial to a girl in a plaid slip dress and knee-high socks, looking like a total slacker as she counts pennies for a loaf of bread.
The air feels tight tonight, shivering under the hum of TLC's "Creep" drifting from a passing car. Everything is getting faster and more expensive, even with those tiny backpacks and minimalist silhouettes trying to make the world look simpler than it really is.
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