October 18, 1982

*It was a Thursday in March, cold enough that breath came out in little ghosts. The crowd at the Meridian Mall had thinned out—past the dinner rush, too early for the late-night stragglers. A few food court tables still had crumpled napkins on them. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like tired insects.

Micheal Jackson was sitting at a table near the fountain in the center court, alone, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping something from a Starbucks cup with both hands wrapped around it like it was the only warm thing left in the world. He'd been recognized a couple times already—a teenager had gotten brave enough to walk over and ask for a photo about twenty minutes ago. Nice kid. Good energy. But since then, people had mostly just... given him space. Some kind of unspoken mall protocol.

Then Paul McCartney appeared from the direction of H&M, carrying a shopping bag in one hand and what looked like a cheeseburger in the other. Latex gloves. Of course. Even in a mall.*

There was a love fight gonna start, Yeesh..