The mall directories mounted on those upright, lit-up billboards, the plastic trays at the food court, the mannequin display at Express, each one modeling this season’s new office trousers. The hours of roaming around, waiting for your mother to finish trying on cardigan twinsets at Talbots. The chemical smell of Sephora, with its walls of perfumes and colognes, arranged with tester bottles and paper strips. The kiosks selling cell phone covers or beauty products made from Dead Sea–sourced mud. The Orange Julius and the Auntie Anne’s, next to each other.
