It's the smell that gets you. Melting, burning plastic searing the air like the reek of an '80s perm. The machine whirs and shakes, not enough to cause concern, but just enough to get the excitement going. It's a giant, familiar console topped with a clear plastic bubble so you can see the gears and valves shift and move and shake.
1,001 Chicago Afternoons
Ode to the Mold-A-Rama: