The holiday crowds have finally subsided from the mall across the street from my office, and it is safe once again to seek out its food court for a brief mid-day respite.
Those who live in Orlando would recognize the mall I refer to as the area's premiere retail destination, home to the purveyors of luxury wares and toggery.
But, my shadow has never darkened any of their doorways.
To date, I have only dropped coin at the Chinese takeaway and the hidden-away U.S. post office.
Just not my scene, I guess.
I attribute the majority of the sense of alienation to the fact this particular mall has no bookstore in it.
Not one.
It got me thinking, as I chowed down on my chow mein. Maybe, the demographics are wrong there. It's not hard to accept the notion that people who relish the flaunting of bling and designer labels don't spend a lot of time in literary pursuits.
Or, maybe, they've simply evolved beyond my cavemanesque mode of reading actual books and rely solely on cloud-served lit.
Either way, not my scene. Well, except for the food court and the post office . . .
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