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From one 22-year-old to another,
If you ever read this, I want you to know that this piece derives from a week of hard hours of studying and lots of Sex and the City episodes. I felt a strong urge to justify why these thoughts popped into my mind. Regardless…
The other day, Tuesday to be exact, I was at the bar getting a beer after my bike ride. Nothing too big. Just wanted something refreshing on the Burke-Gilman. Then out of nowhere, 22 approached me.
He plopped a seat next to mine and began to engage in conversion. Asked the bartender to hand him a Guinness, presuming his thoughts in prose, and flushed back his wavy brown hair flow that extended over his ears. He was a Techie, an “intellectual” clog in a startup-machine that produced the Bona Fide work while also aiming to make 90–100K in a couple of years. Didn’t seem like a corporate lover but gravitated towards regimen and routine. He didn’t say any of this though, no. 22 oozed confidence. You could practically smell it. And you could tell, he was different from 21.
22 was the one who could take care of a dog, take out the trash, and even get take-out…
