By Alice Martin
It’s hot outside. Too hot. Flip-flops-melting-into-asphalt hot. Smells-like-gum-and-gasoline hot. So, we go to the mall.
We start with Auntie Anne’s Pretzels. The air there tastes like sugar-butter, and it’s right by the entrance, so we can stroll by nonchalantly, as if we hadn’t planned anything at all. If we’re lucky, they’ll be giving out free samples in little paper cups. We choose the cups with the biggest pieces of pretzel and suck the bread until it’s nothing but the memory of salt. Then, we say, we’re full now; we don’t need anything else.[Read more…] about Mall, 2004