The slush of 42nd Street ruins my knee-high socks, but the clicking of my shutter keeps rhythm with Mariah Carey’s "One Sweet Day" blaring from a passerby’s boombox. Everywhere I turn, girls in plaid slip dresses and tiny backpacks are shivering outside the theater, desperate to disappear into the warmth of *Waiting to Exhale*.
Beyond the neon glow of the marquee, the air smells of wet wool and cheap gasoline, hummed over by talk of a digital frontier they're calling "cyberspace." I adjust my focus on a kid slamming Pogs against the icy pavement, capturing a world caught between the grit of the sidewalk and the glow of the screen.
Memories from that day
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