The neon glow of the airport terminal flickers against a sea of plaid slip dresses and tiny backpacks, but the morning air feels leaden after that mess at Terminal C. I watched the gas station ticker hit $1.15 on the drive over and nearly lost it; everything is getting too expensive and too unpredictable.
Between the headlines and the crowd, my nerves are fried even if my new satin jacket looks phat. I just want to drown out the world with my Walkman and forget that the grit and shadows from *Seven* seem to be leaking into real life.
Memories from that day
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