I just had a rather surreal trip to the mall.
For one thing, Robinsons May, which is the store nearest to the bus terminal and thus the one I always pass through on my way in and out, was on the last day of its closing-down sale, with the upper level swept bare and the lower down to one counter of jewellery and one rack of damaged garments going for a dollar each, and all the racks and fittings and naked mannequins pushed into piles behind yellow tape barriers.
Then there were the overheard cellphone conversations. "Well, if that's the card they're trying to play. You and Mary Jane," from a young man pacing around the bookstore. "I promise you, you'll be on national television, because God is on your side," from a middle-aged man at the tables outside the coffee place.
I found a couple of pairs of comfortable crop pants and a couple of perfectly nice cotton-linen short sleeved shirts (one style of each, two different colours), rejected a sky-blue tiered broomstick skirt as being too tight around the hips for moral if not physical comfort, and utterly failed to find anything that even looked like a dress I'd want to wear. And in the meantime, the clouds were crouching low over the mountains, and lifting to reveal streaks of snow.
For one thing, Robinsons May, which is the store nearest to the bus terminal and thus the one I always pass through on my way in and out, was on the last day of its closing-down sale, with the upper level swept bare and the lower down to one counter of jewellery and one rack of damaged garments going for a dollar each, and all the racks and fittings and naked mannequins pushed into piles behind yellow tape barriers.
Then there were the overheard cellphone conversations. "Well, if that's the card they're trying to play. You and Mary Jane," from a young man pacing around the bookstore. "I promise you, you'll be on national television, because God is on your side," from a middle-aged man at the tables outside the coffee place.
I found a couple of pairs of comfortable crop pants and a couple of perfectly nice cotton-linen short sleeved shirts (one style of each, two different colours), rejected a sky-blue tiered broomstick skirt as being too tight around the hips for moral if not physical comfort, and utterly failed to find anything that even looked like a dress I'd want to wear. And in the meantime, the clouds were crouching low over the mountains, and lifting to reveal streaks of snow.
