Diary of an Undercover Hipster by @reliablespice

Day 1: Just moved to Williamsburg today. The people here look alien and beautiful. Mom and Dad warned me about these people back when I used to be a boy. I must become alien and beautiful if I am to blend in.

Day 2: Discovered a thrift market today. Asked the store clerksman where I can purchase the best vintage goods in town. He gave me a bad look. My lingo needs a disguise too if I am to blend in.

Day 3: No one will talk to me. I receive unkind looks from the people when I speak to them. My observations have deduced that the preferred hobby in this region is smoking “Parliament” cigarettes. Farewell, pink lungs, I must take up the smoking to make casual conversation.

Day 4: Today at the local “diving” bar, I eavesdropped on a group of young ones who spoke about musical concerts located beneath the ground. I must admit to you that this sounds interesting, if you catch my pun. Might follow them to the location later tonight. Am now equipped with “Parliament” cigarettes to make connections with the beautiful aliens.

Day 5: Location was not beneath ground. There was a big man at the door who saw through my costume and denied me access. Was it because of my attire of a graphic t-shirt sourced from the 1970’s and capri pants and pre-worn leather shoes I purchased with Dad’s credit card? The thrift market clerksman promised the clothes looked “good for the body I have to work with”. It is possible I do not have the correct body to be a real hipster.

Day 6: Made small-talk with a barista today at the local coffee hole called “Milk & Pull”. She had the most “whimsical” eyes (I found this word on an advertisement for Do It Yourself Knitting Lessons). Her hands were delicate like a doily. The way she said “extra-small soy latte? that’ll be $9.50” made my undercover heart skip a beat or two. I sure hope she does not find out I am an undercover hipster and not a real hipster.

Day 7: She found out I am an undercover hipster. I goofed. I have been compromised. I went back to “Milk & Pull” and incorrectly pronounced a band name during the small talk. Who was I to suspected the band called “!!!”  would be pronounced “chk-chk-chk”? I fear this undercover work takes much dedication and much money that isn’t my own. I must arrange my interests to be the same as the people in this region, or else I will suffer the greatest suffering of all: I will be rejected.

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