cos you're my beatnik boy, you make me jump with joy.

(american apparel beret, skirt and tights, thrifted turtleneck sweater)

going to a coffeeshop dressed like a beatnik almost feels a little too post-ironic. like at any given moment, i could start tapping on a couple of bongo drums, talking about jack kerouac, and reading off my tweets as if they were modern beat poetry... oh god.