I’m adjusted my plaid mini-skirt in the theater lobby, the neon glow reflecting off my tiny satin backpack while "Take a Bow" bleeds out of the arcade speakers. My best friend is totally monopolizing the conversation with some spam about her Pog collection, but I’m just trying to score tickets to *Outbreak* before the line wraps around the block.
Dusting off my knee-high socks, I watch a group of preppy guys flex in their oversized flannels, looking absolutely phat under the flickering marquee. The air smells like buttery popcorn and hairspray, a cinematic haze that makes this whole Wednesday night feel like a scene straight out of *Clueless*.
Memories from that day
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The Headlines
Concluding That Cisneros Lied, Reno Urges a Special Prosecutor