On Hipsters, Coffee, and Fainting Couches

One weekend day after scratching my beard to remove crumbs from the cherry greek yogurt parfait I had at brunch, I decided to take my copy of Walden Pond to a coffee shop to relax and contemplate the week. Leaving brunch was very straightforward, given that the process of getting in the car, backing out of my space, and later making a left onto the street was fairly constrained. However, as I turned onto the tree-lined, pedestrian friendly thoroughfare that rested on the former location of a crack house, I began to contemplate the futility of existence, and how every choice I made now closed off an infinite number of future lives I could have led, as simply as closing the last page of my favorite book, beard trimmings and all.

How could an all-natural soy latte cure my dread? No amount of coffee shop jazz or gentrified rap songs played on a device manufactured in a Malaysian sweat shop could assuage by bad feelings. The idea that I had to choose between a locally sourced coffee shop or a chain coffee shop that, let’s be honest, had much better coffee without the ego boost, seemed too much for a soul to contemplate. If only fainting couches fit in by hybrid mini van.

I continued driving aimlessly to my inevitable fork in the road. On the side walk was a woman in workout clothes running with her dog. She was carrying those little green plastic bags…