The July humidity clings to my satin slip dress as I run a thumb over the jagged plastic edge of a Slammer, feeling the tactile weight of a game that will soon be a relic of the analog age. I shift my tiny nylon backpack, frustrated by the long queue at the theater for *Apollo 13*; missing the matinee over a sell-out would be such a total buzzkill.
The scratchy plaid of my friend’s skirt brushes against my knee-high socks as we debate the future of this new "eBay" thing. Everything smells of heavy vanilla perfume and movie theater popcorn, a sensory threshold before the digital tide washes it all away.
Memories from that day
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