“A guy wearing tight jeans and a fedora hat had leaned his elbows on my work table and asked, “So what’s your story?” I’d looked around, making sure he was talking to me. “My story?” He’d made a sweeping circular motion over my body. “This whole situation,” he said. “You look like one of those weedheads in high school who play hacky sack on the lawn.” Just when I was rearing back to let loose some insults of my own, he’d said, “It’s so retro. Like, add some plaid and you’re totally c...hanneling the early nineties Nirvana look.” I still couldn’t decide on the meaning behind his words, so I’d just shut my mouth and shrugged like I was too cool to care. I’d thought about the exchange all the way home and, about two stations before my stop, I finally decided he’d been giving me a backhanded compliment and got off. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at my reflection in a window.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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