last tango in trieste.

by dorarandom

maybe i could be walloon

my coffee makes me feel classy and superior to others. my coffee makes me feel european. i am pretending i am european right now. i purchased the coffee whilst walking to work whilst listening to stereolab. (marxism, again! i’m so not marxist.  i guess i could be an iMarxist.) `have there been any bands since stereolab that are as cool as stereolab?’ i ask myself. `no. is there anyone else in the city of baltimore who is as cool as me, right at this moment? doubtful. no. absolutely not.’

i do deeply approve of the whole italian way of dealing with breakfast. to me, it’s deeply sane. you get your pastry and your espresso and you get it into yourself right away. you don’t want to sit down and dwell on it. with a damn bowl and a spoon and the smell of burning flesh. it’s not a good time of day. you need a blast of caffeine and sugar and goo pronto before you have to contemplate it.

walking to work is also something i find deeply sane. i hated having to drive. i like to walk around and see what stickers are being stuck to the backs of signs and smile at dogs and make sure everybody’s playing it safe. being a commuter was like a period of temporary insanity. cars are vehicles of alienation.

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