04 1 月 Into the dense for the 8 Mile period, he seems away from nowhere, rescuing me personally from a hipster bar that is pretentious.
by Dani Burlison
Lanky twenty-somethings sipping two buck PBRs inside their nicotine-soaked white gear adorned thin jeans avoid attention contact while slouching over barstools. The room is just a dense cloud that is dark of pheromones and distended egos. I develop increasingly restless. A friend excuses herself, stumbling outside with a bass that is shaggy-haired and he draws near, politely asking to stay down.
“My name is…” he mumbles, even though the indie rock-band whines through the phase.
“I'm sure your title,” I say, inviting the interest. “Sit down.”
We discuss politics, hereditary engineering and needle trade programs.