Dave — one of the finest hipsters that the city of Portland, Oregon had ever produced — had the crowd at the house party eating out of his hand.
His frames were flawlessly authentic.
His philosophizing on the underground bands of the day, and the importance of taking long, literary walks in Prague was effortless.
His posture … perfectly post-postmodern.
But as the can of Pabst Blue Ribbon slowly began to warm in his hand, Dave could not shake a deep sense of emptiness.