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I always end up lost. For people who are, like myself, directionally challenged, a $250 million power center like Tempe Marketplace, with its 25 football fields of stores and restaurants, can be a shrieking nightmare from hell. I go into Barnes & Noble, say, and come out later and head back the way I came. I'll pass a hangar-sized sushi restaurant and think, "Didn't that used to be a hangar-sized commercial for Lil' Kim's new album?"
There'll come a day, Tweed says, when those giant commercials will be the reason for walls to exist at all; that brick and mortar will be there only so that there's something onto which retailers can project more promos. "All that valuable wall space will be a canvas for more selling," he claims. "But not just yet. If retailers went that way today, it'd be too scary for people."
So why am I frightened now?