I might’ve grown into a Spencer’s Gifts tween, pretending to look at Simpsons posters while covertly peeping fuzzy handcuffs and naughty dice. I could’ve become a Gadzooks teen, shoplifting ironic ringer tees I only sorta understood. I could’ve aged into an HomeGoods adult, embracing the simple thrills of decorative farfalle housed in seafoam green canisters. Instead, I’m cursed to live in a label-scarred building that’s only seasonally used as a Spirit Halloween.