Classic, Bro

As the last of his friends
filters out,
he closes the door
and surveys an apartment
full of PBR cans
and laughs.
It’s so shitty
and old-school.

He takes off his
plastic-framed glasses
and presses his thumb
and forefinger
into his eyes.

Gonna be a rough morning
tomorrow.
Might as well
put it off
a little longer.

He pops open a PBR
and restarts his playlist
of Buddy Holly and
Sheena Easton mashups.
“Classic,”
he laughs to himself.

He slumps into the couch,
his fedora sliding forward
onto his face.
A little PBR spills onto his
wifebeater.

He lets out a long sigh,
and a realization
slowly settles over him.

All of this was a lot more funny
when his friends were here.

At what point
does it stop being clear
to everyone
that you’re too cool
to do such
obviously
lame things?
That’s the conceit
of ironic culture,
isn’t it?

When are you just a douchebag
listening to bad music?

When you haven’t done anything cool
in five years,
and you’re just a dude with a
neckbeard
and beer gut
who’s pushing 30
and wears a trucker hat
to Tuesday night bowling,
what exactly
are you too cool for?

-GD Butler

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