Hipster Ghettos in Other Cities
Martin: Oh man, I was just on the fucking Chinatown bus for, like, four hours. It smelled like pancakes the whole time.
Seamus: Did you go to Philly?
Martin: Naw, man. Boston. My friend lives in Allston and I haven’t seen him since he got back from hopping freighters for the last six months. He had some crazy stories. He fell in love with some Punk chick from Toledo and he’s getting together the capital to build a cabin up in the wilds of who-the-fuck-knows-where, Ohio, for her. Keeps talking about how he’s gonna bust outta Boston, get his tats removed and open a taxidermy studio up in O-ville. He’s livin’ his life, man.
Seamus: Yeah, but, dude. He lives in Boston? I fucking hate Boston. Fucking Freedom Trail my ass…
Martin: Yeah, man. It’s kinda awful. He kept telling me that Allston was, like, the Williamsburg of Boston. But, dude, all I saw were these fucking college kids everywhere, and these terrible sports bars filled with total fucking poseurs with tribal tattoos and surface piercings.
Seamus: Yeah. All my friends who go to art school live there. I guess there’s supposed to be a scene somewhere.
Martin: But, dude, get this. I was on the train and there was — I swear to God — a throng of frat-holes in fucking suits and sunglasses fighting about who was gonna get sexiled that night. Like one dude was seriously gonna cry. It was like the terrible, terrible college experience I never had.
Seamus: Well, that sucks, dude. Let’s go get a drink, wash the Chinatown bus stink away.
Martin: Yeah, if you’re buying. Where?
Seasmus: Matchless?
Martin: Naw, that place is Dante-esque now. The white hats were out in force last Tuesday.
Seamus: OK, the Levee?
Martin: Are you fucking kidding me? Dude, that place is like a halfway home for old weird dudes who still think they can get laid.
Seamus: The Charleston?
Martin: Now you’re just being stupid.
Seamus: Ah, man, I don’t know then. What do you want to do?
Martin: Ah, fuck Williamsburg. Wanna get the next Chinatown bus to Philly?
(Photo)
This post is dedicated to Barbara Geoghegan, who lives in a sweet-ass apartment in Boston and has a super comfortable futon that she graciously offered to one of SHH’s weary creators. Check out her awesome artistic shit here.
