The funniest part about growing up in Manhattan is that many things people outside deeply urban areas experience, I find exotic. As people coming to the big city enjoy rides in elevators, because they seem exotic if you don’t ride them daily… when you ride them daily it becomes standard.

I like malls.

They’re kind of exciting. Huge monstrosities, built to capture the senses, entice the appetite, and empty the purse. It is the cultural counterpart of the casinos in Vegas. A world where time stops and direction becomes skewed.

Being that my favorite activity is people watching, malls are like meth for the senses. A smorgasbord of bad hair and tasteless teens, roving like packs of hideously dressed wolves searching for other packs of hideously dressed wolves. They swarm about food-courts, talking to each other, passing nervous glances to the other opposite sex groups across from the Cinnabon.

It eventually becomes overwhelming. The visual pollution, while intoxicating, begins to overwhelm the senses. It begins with a sale sign in the wrong shade red and then the garish reality of your surroundings begins, much like too much sugar, to eat away at your sanity.

It’s a uniquely American experience. Like pecan pie, Fluff, Peanut Chews, and conformity. A representation of truth and the american dream, all laid out for purchase.

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