DEATH AT THE SKATING RINK

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There wasn't any death, I just thought it would make a more compelling title. When I came upon this little corral outside the mall, my first impulse, me being, at least on the surface, me, was to take this opportunity to poke fun at these idiots shuffling around this cramped lot supposedly getting all hopped up with Christmas spirit before being herded back into the mall to spend all their money. But the sad ironies of my life, as they are wont to do, seeped in, just the way shampoo seeped into my iPod. These people were having fun. And I wasn't, particularly. They were enjoying themselves, relaxing, having a good time, and I was stewing and sneering. What, exactly, is the mechanism that makes me superior to them? I hate irony.