The designer outlet centre, a shrine to materialism. A group college educated young adults arrive at the car park in their leased four by four, they walk through the line of shops slowly carrying themselves with some form of inflated self value looking down on anyone not wearing designer clothing with big label brands flashing their smartphones, but there are barely any to be seen in the crowded street. They're probably having a conversation about how they haven't eaten meat in a few days and how their work place isn't doing enough to be sustainable. A group walks into a Gucci store were they take their time to browse, in full denial that the clothing they're about to buy was made by young Indians who are paid a pittance. They pick out a few items and pay several hundred pounds for two shirts and maybe a scarf, even though they're worth a fraction, but they're contempt the Gucci label is something to be proud of and make a point of name dropping to their friends. The store clerk packages the clothes up in an expensive looking cardboard box, it's printed with an embroidered trim, and sealed magnetically.
