simplicity

Come on over. We'll pretend you never met those others, you never moved away, we never got older. We'll listen to Left and Leaving, put that first song on repeat - we'll hear it like we used to. I'll bring you a beer. Remember when we used to drink right out of the bottle?

You've become too metropolitan for that now.

I hear from others the sort of person you've become: hiding behind mod glasses and camouflaged in argyle, collecting obscure bands, wielding witty quotations like combat knives, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. What type of life is this? Good God, I hear you actually have a cardigan with elbow patches.

You're destined to live out the rest of life in the cluttered aisles of nearly-new record stores, between the towering shelves of used-book shops, and amid the disorganised racks of sweater-vests in second-hand clothing outlets.

More collecting than gathering. More amassing than collecting. More hoarding than amassing. Yes, hoarding, you're hoarding possessions. Other people's possessions, other people's belongings, other people's lives.

Accouterments signaling a distinct lack of self-knowledge.

You're wearing another's clothes. Listening to another's music. Speaking another's words. Thinking another's thoughts.

But it's not too late.

Come on over. We'll watch terrible movies, not films, but movies like Animal House and Spaceballs. We'll wear our shoes in the house, just like we used to, and put them right up on the coffee table. We'll eat chips out of the bag - remember when we used to eat chips right out the bag? - and we'll read Archie Comics because we don't care about impressing anyone with our intellect. No one.

And you'll leave that stupid sweater at the door.

The one with those pretentious elbow patches.