Dressing Cool or whatever has always been my survival technique for pushing back on the intimidation of the corporate world. I don't play golf though.
When the darkness touched me I resigned myself to furtive peeks out the rusting iron bars of the front window.
What rubs me the wrong way about Brooklyn — it’s a celebration of rich kids who have been pretending to be working poor all their adult lives. I don’t like it when people are always pretending — it confuses me.
Working people who define themselves as hipsters have always embraced my fractured brain with good humor and total understanding. I’ve never experienced that with any other social group. That’s how Jack Kerouac defines “hip” — as having empathy.