I could write indie songs….
Or I could just talk their lyrics.
You could spend hours on your best hippy image.
We could talk intelligent trash all day and debate about important world issues, then get ****** and forget to put out the recycling.
And we could burn incense all day in a house we’d fill with music that we weren’t even sure we liked.
But at least we’d feel like we were cool.
Or we could spend all our money on ****** rap CD’s and posters that say things like “beer…helping people get laid since blah blah blah”
I would talk about shoes all the time and you would flip the collars of your polo shirts;
all 52 of them.
The bright pink being your favorite of course.
And on the weekends we’d drink until we couldn’t speak, and laugh about all the weekends before when we did the same exact thing.
And we wouldn’t be sure if we were having fun or not.
But at least it'd seem like we were.
Then we’d grow up and realize it never mattered how ******* cool we looked, what cult books we could talk about, or if we ever became the president of a fraternity....or his one night stand.
The bottom line was, no matter where we “fit” or who we tried to be associated with, there were still people that ****** So really, image was never what mattered, and we wasted all of our time and money on being trendy little ***** And we were never happy.
But hey, at least we looked like we were.