Composing slam poetry while huddled around a burning trash can for warmth on a frigid winter night, a gang of gamins – distinguished by their customary street uniforms of oversized denim jeans slung low on bony hips and Crooks & Castle hoodies, the too long sleeves pushed up passed ashy elbows – stood apart from a small cluster of urbane wannabes, their Brooks Brother khakis and Banana Republic bomber jacket regalia an antithetical giveaway to their true identifies as they attempted to mimic the mannerisms and speech of the more urban and streetwise punks; who in turn were mocking the preppies’ pitiful posing.
Thin spiral notebook 