It is Casual Friday, denim shirt tucked into blue jeans, reserved parking space, circular glasses, hair parted in the middle, racquetball at lunch, afternoon meeting’s postponed.
You just sit and stare in your corner office at the stars rushing on the Windows 98 screensaver, dreaming away a sunny afternoon.
You wonder if the restaurant where you have reservations folds their cloth napkins the right way.
You're walking downtown in a small town on a rainy night. You've never been to this town before but you've seen many like it. They're all like this. All the same more or less. A small used video store is to your left. Through the window you see the covers of various retro music albums. Pink Floyd's "The Wall", Micheal Jackson's "Thriller" on vinyl and that Cyndi Lauper record with "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". You know the one. Right up against the window you see a few 1990s high fantasy novels, some old VHS tapes and a Japanese DVD with Hello Kitty on it. As the neon light above you flickers on and off, "It's Your Move" by Diana Ross comes on the radio. You decide you'll walk in and at least have a look around, but the door's locked. "Of course. They're probably closing right now," you mutter to yourself. You notice the closing time isn't for another hour, but before you knock on the door you notice the puff of some intoxicating vapor and the movie "Clerks" playing in the back room. Whoever this guy is, he gets it. He's not trying to sell you anything and you just wanted to browse, so you decide not to bother him any further.
As you continue walking through the dimly lit downtown streets of Everyplace, USA you come across a flower shop. You notice the daffodils, chrysanthemums, morning glories, the dyed rose buds, and a cheaply, mass produced statue of a roman goddess. It's open so you decide to enter. As the chimes on the door signal your entrance the first thing you notice is that the water cooler still has a few 90s solo cups left in it. The machine's broken and covered in dust so they might actually be originals. It smells like nirvana in here. As you stand there absorbing the atmosphere that same Diana Ross song comes on the radio again. The store owner comes out from the back. "Do you need any help finding anything?" she asks in surprise. By the slight sigh and subtle attempt to fix her hair you can tell she wasn't expecting any customers this late. As you turn around you wipe the bittersweet smile from your face. "No, I think I found what I was looking for. Have a nice night."
You go back outside, take out your CD player, put in your retro mix tape, and press play. At 4 minutes and 20 seconds in, the song begins to skip. You watch as the hot air from your lungs vaporizes into a cold white cloud. The hair on the back of your neck begins to rise, partly because of the rain, partly because of the irony of it all. You take a deep breath and exhale, whispering to yourself the mantra "It's all in your head" in a slow, deliberate repetition. You spend the next 2 hours at a nearby bar smoking cigarettes and drinking local craft beers, watching reruns of Seinfeld on an old CRT television set. You drink not to forget, but to remember. Remember that it's all gone now, and only the memories remain with you...