Hipster – A True Tale from the Futuristic Noir Life of Greg (Part 1)

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For future reference, the above image displays how I was dressed today, as well as the perplexity I am still experiencing. I would like to avoid taking any more selfies this year.

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It was well past noon by the time I got myself out the front door of my place, and the previous night was to blame. Remember Japan? My memory fades in and out, but over my hauntingly-close-to-three years back in the States, I’ve connected with a few good men and women who may be called upon to come together and serve up a reminder that everything used to be totally different. Among those every things, I used to stay out until 3 a.m. a lot more. I used to also have nightmares a lot more. A healthy first-time-in-awhile reunion reawoke both old habits.

So I was getting a late start. Destined for a train to the city and late as I was, I nevertheless plotted to first stop at a café for drugs and things. I mean basically.

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