There was always something illicit about walking into Spencer’s Gifts. Not “illegal” illicit—nobody was slinging black tar heroin behind the lava lamps. But illicit in that very specific suburban way, like sneaking a sip of Smirnoff Ice from your friend’s older brother’s mini-fridge or watching South Park with the volume so low it was practically subliminal messaging.
[Read more…] about Spencer’s Gifts Was the Mall’s Fever Dream—And We Loved It