Rachel and I broke into the abandoned Latham Circle Mall on Saturday. It wasn’t really hard to do. Just crowbarred a half-broken wooden plank that covered a JCPenney door and bam — we were in.

We didn’t really have a plan. Just thought it would be cool to explore. To see a liminal relic of a forgotten time. And we were right.
It was like being teleported back to the ‘90s. Though we were both born in 2010, so we could only guess what it was like being a teenager back then. Probably cool.

We made our way past the racks of JNCOs and puka shell necklaces. Rachel grabbed a few necklaces and put them on.

“Totally rad, bro!” she said, her voice sounding like a drunk surfer.

I lifted the gate and headed straight into the heart of the mall. Abandoned trees rotted away. Water pooled onto the teal and pink tiles. A hole in the sky glass made it easy for birds to fly inside and shit everywhere. The elevator was taped off, making the second floor inaccessible.

That’s when we saw him.

“Is that—?”“No…”“It can’t be.”

But it was. Standing at the food court was Guy Fieri. Spiky frosted tips, visor, shades and all.

Rachel and I stood there, not knowing what to do.

It looked like Guy Fieri. But everything about him was wrong. His smile was a little too sharp. His eyes a little too black. His tattoos dripped in ooze.

He waved at us. The hair on my arms stood up.

“Welcome to Flavortown!” he screamed.

He let out a high-pitched laugh that rang through our skulls. The floor beneath us rumbled. The skylight cracked open with a sound like frying bacon. Suddenly, the mall transformed into one of his Vegas restaurants. All the patrons were eating smash burgers made of brains. Worms crawled out of their noses.

Rachel screamed. I took her hand and we started to run out of the restaurant — except the exit kept getting further and further away.

And then another Guy Fieri appeared. This one twice as big.

“That’s gangsta!” he said.

Four more Fieris appeared. This time fusing together, making one Giant Guy.

“That’s outta bounds!” he roared.
The walls closed in on us.

“Rachel, I love you.”

But before she could respond, Giant Guy snapped his fingers — and we were gone.
Back in the parking lot of the mall. Only the parking lot was a wok, and we were being doused in canola oil over medium-high heat. The air smelled like burnt oil and fear. We were sizzling like garlic in a late-night special.

Everything burned in Flavortown.

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Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. He’s on Twitter/x: @sbb_writer