Seen on the N train this morning.
What’s this dude’s deal? Is he trying to resemble some kind of New York City literary great of yore?
Does he realize the title of his old-school Signet Classic is too small to read from my seat, thus failing to impress me? I’m willing to bet it’s one of those outdated prints marked 69 cents, likely found at a Brooklyn rummage sale. Perhaps he scored it at the estate sale of a tortured writer who killed himself and now he gets to brag about having all the original underlines and notes taken by said troubled soul. How deep.
Yes, dear gentleman and scholar, I did notice you were about 95% through with the book. Bravo. Have you actually read the book three times already and just ride around staring at page 450 hoping it will trigger a conversation you are so well-versed and rehearsed in?
As a blogger, I have love for plenty of hipster types, provided they’re not too self important. Seeing people like this dude make such glaringly obvious effort incurs more gag reflex than trying to deep throat Dirk Diggler.
Save me a seat at the Algonquin table, guy. And have a dry martini made with an obscure, Hemingway-endorsed, gin ready.