tea lounge. park slope. hippie paraphernalia abounds. hand knitted caps and scarves, funky, fruit-patterned canvas bags, earth-tone slippers in public. lefty grooming noted. unkept hair, men in nail polish, no make-up, ironic sideburns, white girls in cornrows. the revolutions could start here, but instead grad students are caffeinating for the return of classes, nonrprofitters are snuggled up with the onion, and co-opers are shaking their dangling turquoise earrings at a friend's choice of tofu. i see five mac laptops from where i'm sitting. including my own. which brings my eyes to me, wearing too much leather and whining. pretty much all i know is that we're all doing it wrong. all these white pre-stroller park slopers make me nearly as anxious as the pre-i-bankers out west at my alma mater. all we americans with our disposable incomes and maddening, constant obliviousness.