Each morning, on my long march to work, I pass a hipster donut shoppe. Hazelnut, sugar maple, Nutella, kale and bacon, obviously: so many typical hipster flavors, except, of course, donut flavor.
The twentysomething men all sport Karl Marx beards and retro shoes; the fiftysomething men, meanwhile, are uniformly attired in jeans and rock band t-shirts. It's like the youngsters and the oldsters have swapped appearances, as in some tedious role-reversal Hollywood excuse for comedy. The world turned upside down and then squeezed until all the local buffoons are wrung out over the sidewalk.
And what of the local women? There aren't any in this shuffling Donut line of transposed facial hair. In fact, I suspect that women of all ages are too wise to queue for fatuous breakfast foods at such an early hour. And even if they did, they would not look so slovenly, graceless and inappropriate.
Personally, I enjoy a morning repast of plain yogurt, blueberries and a sprinkling of granola in a shirt and tie. Make of that what you will.
