There is a coffee joint down the block from me in Brooklyn. It’s in an old warehouse garage. The place is hipster heaven. Every person that enters has a one speed bike they leave outside. They’re also covered head to toe in tattoos. I’m talking like fifty tattoos each. Every inch of each arm and leg is completely filled up. I’m the tattoo-free grandpa sitting out front on a little bench. I was drawing this scene across the street while sipping a hibiscus ice tea. Not only am I the only one without tats, I’m the only freak not drinking coffee. In some ways, I’m the most radical looking dude there because I just don’t fit in. As they look over my shoulder observing my sketch, I start to get the high fives, fist bumps, and head nods. Maybe I am a hipster afterall.
