I like to use these musical stylings to set the scene.

Imagine it somewhere between 1999 and 2003.

No, you're not tripping balls at a warehouse rave or a Berlin nightclub.

You are shattering your eardrums and playing fast and loose with some serious cologne fume

induced genoja while picking out a sensible cargo pant and nabbercrombian fitch.

Senses you don't typically expect to experience somewhere in between a jimberi and a zales

jewelers, but alas, here you are.

Back then you spent your time hanging out in the best third place of them all.

The mall.

Didn't mean to do that.

You're overtaken by the sights, the sounds, the smells, the aroma of loose change and

a grand fountain inside a two-story linoleum suburban castle.

Maybe you hear nature sounds by the polished rocks at a natural wonders.

You bring your egg game to an arden bee.

You're struck by the bath and bodyworks canopy whose red gingham reminds you of the luxury,

only Felicity Maryman's canopy bed could ever provide.

You can never afford.

But you go anyway.

You've rifeed through the travel sizes, hoping to stumble upon treasure in the form of

a travel size affordable cucumber melon, perhaps a sweet pea.

Anything to walk out of that glorified crack or barrel smelling like an edible arrangement.

Perhaps you settle getting swept away by adjunient properties because there's a free

...