The start of the weekend. Me, rolling through your burg up Bedford Ave in my new Lexus, checkn out the scenery on my way to my place in the Hamptons. Stopping for a light at a light. You, Hipster Girl. Young, dark hair, nice rack action, looking fine. Our eyes met. The light turned green. Cars honked and I had places to go and things to do. I drove on.
But I'm still thinking of you, Hipster Grrl. I'm a successful finance dude who could support you in your art and music, and give you a life apart from all the pretensious stinky people I saw you having to walk around on Bedford. So if you don't have herpes or venereal warts, write back to me and I'll show you how sweet life can be.
Yes, there you were, encapsulated in air-conditioned status symbol costing 6 times or more a yearly minimum wage salary, burning fossil fuels witthout a care on your way to the Hamptons, where the truly rich sometimes deign to rub shoulders with you, the wanna-be who sold his soul to the gods of Morgan Stanley et al for a grab at the brass ring. And for a moment, maybe all the barriers you have built up around yourself - the ones that allow you to crap on everyone else without hurting - seemed a little more porous than usual, or maybe you just believe that everything - yes, even I - has a price tag on it that you can probably afford without dipping too deeply into the treasure trove.
Alas, you couldn't support me. not because you don't have enough money. You could probably support whole 3rd world villages with your bonus alone. But supporting me would mean NOT supporting war criminals like George Bush, even if he did reduce your taxes, not using a disproportionate share of the world's resources purely to assuage your own ego, not standing idle or mute as the world slips into crisis, not doing your work blindly, regardless of the human cost, not cutting yourself off from your kinship to those "stinky people" whose luck and choices are diffferent from your own. Supporting me does not mean writing a big enough check so that I'd let you between my legs until you get bored and find a mistress or admit that you're gay. Supporting me would mean getting "real". Herpes and venereal warts - while impossible to cure, can be kept in check with vigilance and care, and not spread to others. I hope the same is true of your soul-less arrogance.
You go, Hipster Grrl!
p.s. If I had to guess, it's probably not the same girl... But you never know.
p.p.s. I'm sure the dapper young lad can charm (i.e. buy) his way into the heart of a young lady who's not quite as hipster as this woman.