The rough plaid of my skirt scratches against my knee-high socks as I huddle by the newsstand, reeling at the headline about taxi fare hikes. My palms are sweaty against the cool plastic of my Pog tubes; I’m terrified I’ll have to sell my slammers on that new eBay site just to afford a ride home in this winter slush.
I catch my reflection in a darkened shop window—a ghost in a satin slip dress—while hearing that *One Sweet Day* song blaring for the tenth time. Between the price of bread rising and the stress of learning Java for my new job, I can barely focus on installing Windows 95, let alone saving up for one of those fancy new DVD players.
Memories from that day
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