The song comes on. It's New Wave, hip. No, wait.
It's 45 years old. It isn't hip, and I'm not, either.
I'm just an old man who dates himself by singing,
Showing that he knows the words. The kids, all
Submerged in their phones, are nodding like
B-movie zombies to the hip hop and the jingles:
Mindless, wretched, broken creatures. I suppose
They'll never realize that there's a world which
Exists beyond their shitty screens. They'll mutate
Into sallow worms, while those like me, not hip
Or current, will persist on loading docks
And weathered tables tethered in the public
Parks they'll never visit, better than them in our
Minds, outre, but not submerged.