What It’s Like To Be A Bat

When the neck hairs rise on folks as you walk in the door of the boutique coffee house for a four-dollar coffee there on the corner of fashion and destruction, in which appearance supersedes and systematically kills off interiority, you shouldn’t be that surprised. “I just want the caffeine,” you’ll explain, but the audible gasps in response’ll conclude the overture. That you’ll have trouble actually holding on to the coffee cup with your claws is more to the point. These raw denim, locavore, expensively tattooed, coffee hucksters have, to put it simply, heavy biases. Such that when you’re chased finally out of the building by a mustachioed barista with a wooden tennis racket, where from the street you’ll alight up into the branches of a tree to hang there and stare venom down at the twee-fucker, you may want to foreswear artisanal coffee altogether. Still, though some people do not like bats, you should recall that bats have no facebook, and they cannot be arrested, and do not think about clothes, and pay no tax, and transcend class-strata, and, generally, bats have it made.

 


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WHAT YOUR WEEK HAS IN STORE is a weekly (-ish) horoscope by Forest Lewis. If you’d like to receive email alerts—and that’s all you’ll get, a short email—saying the new one’s up, sign up here:


Front page image by Stephen Rees.

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