Smoking is only cool if you do it ironically.
This is what Duncan says when I come out with a lemonade for him. The temperature cracked a balmy eight degrees today, we are celebrating. He holds up his cigarette in offering to me and I shake my head.
Are you a hipster now, Duncan?
Possibly. Though you make me seem more like Hunter S. Thompson when you write about me.
Oh holy shit, you're a blog reader. It's even worse than I suspected.
Ben walks out onto the steps. What's worse? That Dunk's a hipster now?
No, a blog-reader. Ben, get the children. I think we can escape in the night. Leave everything behind.
Do...do blog readers take children?
I don't know but it's creepy.
Yay. Duncan becomes the creepy one for once. Ben jumps into the air and claps his hands, his voice a frighteningly funny falsetto.
At least I don't eat my wife's makeup all fucking day long, Frankie. Duncan lands a punch against Ben's arm as he comes down to the patio. Ben picks up Duncan's lemonade and drinks it all. He gets down with his hands on Duncan's shoulders and says, That's not all I eat, baby and runs his hands through Duncan's hair.
Duncan swats him away as I shake with laughter. I'm trying not to egg them on.
Seriously. What's wrong with hipsters now, Bridget?
Their pants. They look like they hurt. So tight. On dudes, no less.
You're just jealous because they don't make skinny jeans small enough for you, babe.
She'd never be in them for long anyway, Ben says and puts the glass upside down on Duncan's head and licks the side of his face. Duncan swats it off and asks Ben if he's ever serious. Like, ever.
Not anymore, I keep my emotions underground, man. Ben says it somberly and I can't hold my giggles in any longer. I crack up laughing out loud. It feels good.
