Ecce Mortis: Breakfast with Music and BEING
Twenty-nine is no longer young. Not old, two-thirds life ahead—possibly. But alas, beyond the market age bracket of the eighteen-to-twenty-fours. Let them pass. We are huge, despite unmarketable advanced degrees, dollars blown on our ‘afraid to work with our hands.’
Look at me. There. In the mirror. Cleansed and dapper. Green-and-yellow Topiary Techniques t-shirt; blue jeans; green-and-black sneakers. Ready to go. Ready to go. Ready to go.
BEING already in the kitchen, sipping coffee he’d picked up at the corner bakery. Sticky buns, muffins and The City News.