Thanks for the Memories
By Ryn Brierley I place the soda and bag of pretzels on the counter. “That’s twenty seconds, please,” the cashier says. I drop the pack of gum I was just about to add to the pile. “Twenty seconds? It should only be ten for all of this.” “Inflation,” he says. “I don’t make the prices.” I groan. I push in the vial behind my ear, and it clicks out with a soft ping. The small Read more




