Hey guys, it's me, Lauren, reporting from Bushwick, New York, where I've been spending some quality time with my dear friends Jack and Shuja. Both of these comrades are in the midst of a depressive episode, so it's been an emotional roller-coaster. I can't, however, blame them for their current mental states because something about this place is relatively soul-sucking. I blame the locals, and by locals I mean twenty-somethings that have their parents pay for them to pretend they're poor in really nice apartments. Here is a list of hipster-cliches I've spotted since my arrival:
-I went to a charming little coffee place, "Little Skips," to enjoy a chai tea with Jack. Since we were both in lounge-wear, we were greeted with looks of distaste. I noticed one young man at the bar taking brief pauses from his reading of a Bukowski book to scoff at Jack's velour leisure pants (which he claims to have been wearing for four weeks straight).
-At the same coffee shop, there was a girl doing diligent liberal arts homework on an Apple (tm) laptop, and she was wearing THREE SCARVES at one time.
-There is a garage here that, from the outside, you would assume served to maintain and/or build motorcycles. I learned, though, that what this garage offers is repairs on fixed gear bikes.
- I awoke to blizzard-like conditions and on a brief stroll with Shuja, those I saw braving the weather all actually had rain-slickers and galoshes. Cool ones, of course.
-A wall-art collage.
-A girl who looked and dressed just like this:
-On a completely unrelated note, the neighbors who are semi-constantly in the midst of a very intense, and very audible verbal disagreement were having one such episode yesterday that ended in the dude being like "I'm outta here. I got my cell phone, my phone charger, and my tarot cards. I never want to see you again." He never left though.
In conclusion, Brooklyn makes Chronic Town seem like a biker-bar in the southern tip of Texas.