hipster house

So there are these hipster guys who live across the street from Eric and me. They’re the kind of hipsters who wear skinny jeans and too much hair product to keep their bangs in place. The kind of hipsters who come home from the bars at 4am and try to have deep conversations on their porch while drinking cans of PBR and Schlitz. The kind of hipsters who wouldn’t know real irony if it jumped out in front of their Ray-Ban sunglasses.

I tell you, these guys irritate the crap out of me… and the worst part is this – it makes me realize that I’ve gotten old. I mean, when I was their age, I stayed out all night, and then came home and had drunken conversations with friends. And I probably annoyed the hell out of my neighbors too.

You would think these realizations about myself would make me more tolerant of these hipster guys. Yet, you would be wrong. Instead, I think I’ll become the cranky older neighbor who calls the cops whenever these fuckers wake me up at 4 in the morning. Yep, sounds good to me.