Verbal Masturbation. October 5, 2010.

Sitting in Diesel Cafe, the first chunk of the day’s work done, thumbing this on my iPad as girls 15 years younger than me wear sweaters that girls from 20 years ago would have worn to those parties in basements with the red Silo cups walk by, cool pieces of too-hip miserablism despite the fact they live in an era where disease and nature have been browbeaten into innocuous shadows of their former raging selves and the worst thing they have to worry about on a daily basis isn’t death or crime or terrorism (no matter what the news says) but whether or not they can afford a new article from H&M that will dissolve into its component parts at the end of the season as if made from gossamer by fairies instead of from cheap cotton by Thai housewives.