oldschool hippies
They are as interesting as they are annoying, this new posse I have discovered, and am still trying to figure out what to name them. I don't have a talent for assigning nick names and titles and for now have simply resorted to referring to them as "oldschool hippies." They're old and dirty and hanging out in coffee shops talking about everything that is relevant in their own minds about economy and the government and women (or lack therof) and comparing dogs to pigs, asking, "Would you rather fight a dog or a pig?" or saying, "I'd rather have a pet dog; pigs just don't seem as cuddly," when in reality they are talking in circles and never saying anything at all. They're either writing books that will never get published or drawing pictures that will never be seen, and one can only understand half the conversation becuase of jumbled words, whether that is just the accent or an inability to annunciate from having done too many drugs. I observe them unnoticed for as long as possible, until one of them leaves to get a coffee refill. I make the mistake of looking up from my book, drawing the attention of the one still sitting. He asks a question in the jumbled south-Georgia-druggie language as to the subject matter of my book, which I don't even know what is about. I answer him in a short sentence and immediately look back down as unidentifiable words continue to stream from his mouth, eventually trailing off into the background noises. Once I'm sure his attention has adverted from me, I gather my dishes and belongings and leave them to continue their endless conversation circles.