Nuclear Summer
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The wooden door creaked on its hinged as John pushed it open and stepped into the cramped shop. Goods from some bygone era were stacked atop one another and crammed into shelves from floor to ceiling. The store smelled like dust, like dry earth. Books, magazines with aging brittle paper, old toys: superheroes and fantastic beasts rendered in plastic waged epic wars across the uppermost shelves. John was immediately overwhelmed by the quantity of things—things he vaguely recognized from his own childhood, and things he’d never seen before except, maybe, in old movies watched via cloud sync. Glassware painted with women in grass skirt sand palm trees; a silver teapot with a bird on the spout; vinyl records in cardboard sleeves; large plastic bottles of Mountain Dew Chrome and something called a “Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine.”

    1. 1 noteTimestamp: Saturday 2013/04/13 20:19:36MarsOne
    1. dglendening posted this