The July heat makes my plaid flannel shirt feel like lead, and my palms are sweating as I clutch a plastic tube of Pogs that cost far too many quarters. Everything is getting so expensive, from the bread at the deli to the theater tickets for *Waterworld*, and honestly, the news about the West Bank makes me want to just hide on the information superhighway forever.
I adjust the thin satin straps of my slip dress, feeling the scratchy lace dig in as I worry if my boss will replace me with a computer. I’m just trying to keep my knee-high socks from slipping while I wonder how much more the price of gas can possibly climb before the world snaps.
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