Food courts in struggling malls speak to me.
They seem to be sustained by people who, themselves, might be struggling with abandonment.
Women sporting 40-inch Brazilian weaves and Megan Thee Stallion talons order the #4 from the Mandarin Kitchen menu.
Men with spikey, banded henna-tinted dreads stand in line at Roscoe's in sagging jeans and Yeezys waiting for the pork chop sandwich with hot sauce and seasoned fries.
Pre-teens in Nike gear swing Jimmy Jazz shopping bags, while scrolling through Insta and Tik-Tok on phones with cracked screens.
No music is piped in.
The only sounds come from blaring TVs in sports stores and the whirr of a siren from the kiddie park fire truck at center court.
A mall security guard steps through on the way out for a smoke break.
And a sheriff's deputy's vehicle idles just outside the door.
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