
I downloaded my first album legally tonight. It was Bright Eyes’ “Cassadaga”. “Poison Oak” made me cry while shopping for washing machines and refrigerators in Broadway in Causeway Bay just over a year ago. That was pretty interesting.
Yesterday I had to go to a big law firm to check out their conference rooms for a photo job. It was just before lunch when I left and I got into a full elevator. Once inside I saw the doors were mirrors, and I got to look at myself surrounded by perfectly preened, young executives. I looked like shit. From my hair to my outfit to my self, I looked a mess. Not a Keith Richards kind of a mess; just an ugly, avoidable-person kind of mess.
You might not know this, but I was young once. I was aware at the time that older people envied me, that I had access to the little girls and the energy, and that one day it would be gone. I decided that I would enjoy it and when it was gone, well, to hell with it. I would embrace maturity, or drop dead if it got too hard. I’m bored of this topic already, but I’m still surprised every time I look in the mirror. Does it have to be over so quickly?