Dave — one of the finest hipsters that the city of Portland, Ore. had ever produced — had the crowd at the house party eating out of his hand.
His frames were flawlessly authentic.
His philosophizing on the unknown bands of the day, and the importance of taking long, literary afternoons in Prague was effortless.
His posture … perfectly post-postmodern.
But as the can of Pabst Blue Ribbon slowly began to warm in his hand, Dave could not shake the sense of emptiness residing
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