observation #7

‘Blue Monday’ was playing and it was like 1988 even though I was just an egg then. The neon lights were casting strange shadows on exposed skin and a boy near the bar was selling limited happiness for a 20. I looked at all these people around me – really looked – and for a bunch of kids who exclaimed to be anything but “normie,” they were coming off ridiculously so. The same carbon copies of Saturday night boredom and dream chasing. The same strategically ripped, baggy, jeans. The same golden chains. The same faces.

Cut to Sunday morning.

If you ever want to see beauty in motion, it’s 6am on a Sunday morning – prowling the streets of the city’s concrete. Sprawling onto the sidewalks in a messy daze of youthful exuberance. Groups of kids, bleary eyed, holding hands and fighting the cold. I was now in the backseat of a car, half-asleep and watching Harmony Korine’s vision unfold. Two kids, sitting on a metal bench, eating each other’s faces off for breakfast.