On the East side they dress for suicide.
Razor edged faces with molting hair.
T shirts safety pinned to the back of jean jackets.
Unkown artists with felt tip markers.
Khaki wool overcoats on monochrome silhouettes,
like the remnants of some future holocaust.
They make their final statements.
The West side screams for anarchy with their tongue in cheek.
These are the children of neuvo hip. Over sized unstuffed shirts. They dress to amuse us with mock seriousness. Here there are no reasons to dress for or to die for. Only soft cotton shirts and argyle socks. And the money to buy them. Here everything is clean and plastic and you can hear the children laughing at us.
September 