Oh, to witness your plodding gait as you traverse the crosswalk! You proceed as if it were a bridge across the River Styx, leading to a morass of great despair into which you are compelled to plunge. You've mastered the look of affected indifference, with your straightforward gaze and facial features frozen as if carved from from an uncommon stone. Your very presence in my corner of the urban landscape creates a grossly palpable energy that serves to literally broadcast you as a person of exotic substance and confounded, contorted meaning in a world of squares, corporate sellouts, and common pursuits.
Just what is actually in your vintage messenger bag? The embodiment of uniqueness? The essence of individuality? Shards of disdain for conventional society? An iPhone loaded with music so fresh and esoteric that it defines your high-brow vision of cool? The mysterious product you use to coif your hair into a formation worthy of a master abstract sculptor - having the appearance of being randomly disheveled, yet requiring considerable deliberate effort and infinite expenditure of time to achieve? Or does the bag merely provide shelter to a densely knotted ball of angst that would otherwise melt into the atmosphere if exposed to sunlight?
No amount of off-the-cuff analysis could lead a casual observer to accurately assess exactly which of the clothing articles enveloping your body are the product of exhaustive thrift store treasure hunting, purchased at the utmost cutting edge boutique, crafted from "found" items in the ambient environment, or painstakingly hand-hewn. One thing is certain, however. You wear only the skinniest of jeans... jeans that leave no detail of your lower body obscured, even parts that others were likely not prepared to see.
Your tribal disk earrings harken to the Mother Continent, despite the overt paleness of your skin...lending an air of cultural intrigue and authenticity to your milky whiteness. When these embellishments are coupled with the one-of-a-kind flourish of your Asian-inspired tattoo sleeve, one is left only to helplessly bask in the grandeur of you. Brood on Portland hipster goddess. Brood on!