Gimbels. When The West Indian Mother and I first moved to the New Country, Gimbels was the store. Actually, there was Gimbels and then there was another popular one, but the name of that other one escapes me now. It had some really good stuff, Gimbels! I remember having to dive, literally dive, into one of those big steel or aluminium box-type cage bins to find my sneakers — you know, the canvas ones that your mother would wash when they got dirty? Oh, what were they called again? See, can’t remember that too. Anyway, the sneakers always had both feet tied with one of those you-gotta-cut-them-off hard plastic ties, but somehow, every once in a while, you’d spot your shoe size sticking out and you’d pull and it would be one foot. And you’d be like, “Aw, man!” Then, you’d have to go diving and rummaging in the bin for the other foot.
Shopping. Those were the good ol’ days. Fun times.