Writing an essay about the most hip person I know is easy. Reading it to someone else was easy. Knowing what that person is thinking was the hard part. I couldn't help but wonder if hip to me was even close to meeting the expectations of an audience.
The most hip part about the person I've chosen is that she is so hip to me that it doesn't matter what anyone's opinion is. Maybe nobody is really hip. Hip is a moment or a figment of our imaginations; the poet who writes romantically but lives in misery. Maybe romance is misery.
Every time I try to write about hip I am stepping on to a merry-go-round. Is this because I am officially old?
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