I am in a café in Boise. There is a table chock-full o’ teenagers next to me. They look about the same as teenagers looked when I was one but these have different things pierced. I was going to say, “they have more piercings,” but people had plenty in my time but they tended to be relegated to the ears or in some cases an ear. One teenager is eating packets of jelly from the condiment counter. Another is the cynical leader with a voice that could curdle milk or curl teeth or at least make you feel dumb if she talked to you. Paradoxically, if you were among her peers, you’d feel privileged if she talked to you. I know the type.
Low battery, must go.