These Highschoolers Think I'm Homeless

The Starbucks on Fairview and 36 has become haunted by high schoolers. These are the high end models made self-important by mall-purchasable-only attire. These are not normal High schoolers who stay home from Prom, and leave gross messages detailing sexual positions that attendee's, of the dance, parents are doing whilst they are out. No, these are the fucking cool kids. And it is for this reason, dear Coitusers, that I believe they think I am a homeless person.

As you have read in the past, my general apparel is taken from a little known faction of fashion known as "Hangover Chic". The "Basic Look" requires jeans washed within the past month, hooded sweatshirt and a sensible t-shirt with little to medium stainagt; in essence, hipster before people began paying money to look like they weren't paying money, and the hipster look became immediately purchasable.

Studying has ensued to learn more about these pretty people. These common observations develop a hypothesis that everyday grooming and the monetary and time amount spent upon attire leads to a mate; a self evident point as all of the individuals here, on a Tuesday night no less, are ringed by a member of the opposite sex-- in fact one has had the audacity to bring in flowers. Flowers in the middle of winter!

Truly these are fucking high schooler 2.0. These aren't the kids that listened to the 'Mats or the Pixies, or still remember the time Abby Bleaker came over and squished onto a too crowded couch for the entire duration of Benny and June. No these are Frankenschoolers, built for only the operation of getting sex, living off their parents income and eventually having jobs where they will be my boss.

There is no comeback for these fools. There is no dark alley where a switch blade could be drawn, and a throat could be slashed. These are modern times where Jets and Sharks no longer exist, and a more modern caste system has been developed, by parents, to ensure nobody gets hell beat out of them. It probably is forward thinking, but looking out at all these damn fools sitting around me I envy them not-- or maybe I do.