Dreams of hipsters

Lollapalooza sucked this year. I felt my soul twisting and turning as I scanned the room for a single familiar face. Where were the people I know and loved? Who the fuck are these people? Corporate America twenty something’s have taken over what use to be a music aficionado playground. All the cheers were nauseating. And then it hit me. Maybe I’ve changed. I’m not the raging alcoholic I once was. People are a lot less interesting. My friends birthday recently involved bar hopping and all I kept thinking was how much better I’d like to be at a coffee shop. A coffee shop that serves alcohol albeit to appease the needs of the masses but still a coffee shop. And the only person in the world who I could tell everything to knowing they’re On My Side is dead. I’m getting a tattoo tomorrow, a permeanant mark as a reminder. Tattoos are an insane turn on for me. It can instantly give credentials to a person I don’t know. An understanding of life. God, someone said to me the other day, or was it a dream? .. ” let’s face it. Life is shitty.” Ha it was Ken. God it felt good to hang out with my friends, and Pete is right. We know each other, our personalities, and we’ve been friends for a decade. They get me, and if they don’t they just don’t give a fuck and that’s why I love them.

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