He was attractive and had the kind of long hair that guys in New York bands work their asses off to achieve before shooting the video for their first single. Tattoos ran down to his wrist on his left arm, and somehow the way he wore his blue-shirt-and-shorts uniform oozed "I just don't give a fuck" cool. He was the most distinctive looking person I'd seen in Minneapolis, and the fact that he was an actual employee of the US POSTAL SERVICE made it even cooler.
"That mailman looks like an uber-hipster," I said.
"He's not a hipster, he's the real thing," responded Ethan.
"What, he's legitimately hip?"
"No, he's working class and from the South."
"Oh, THAT real thing."
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Um, not even kidding. I think that was Adam, my ex-boyf. After our tumultous break up, he got COVERED in TATS. COVERED.
And my high school friend said that he was working for the PO.
Did he have a lip ring?
That's the sealer.
crazy, crazy small world.
Meredith, your anti-Gotham attitude is just as bad as the New York Times' snottiness you've been decrying lately.
You know as well as I do that almost all of the "hipsters" in Williamsburg (as well as NYT reporters) are out-of-towners, most likely from that great swath of land I call "the Mid-West," i.e., everything west of the Hudson.
Well, I think I've just gotten myself in enough trouble for one day.
Wait--I was thinking about it, and it occurred to me that the butter busts of Dairy Princesses are not for people who like to eat butter (supported by the dairy industry though they may be). Wasting that much butter to make a runny statue could only appeal to people who hate butter.
"I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals, I'm a vegetarian because I hate vegetables." --Gunter Grass
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