I am coming home from an art show at a sex shop on a Friday night that I was desperate to fill in the way we are desperate to fill instagram accounts with of proof that we leave our houses. The place was all-a-crowded in twenty-somethings who RSVP’d on facebook, wore canvas bags printed in obscure prints done by German artists that they really really like and boots that are worn in so you can tell which foot they rest their weight on when they stare. I am nineteen trying to decide if they are what I want to turn into. They stack zines and dildos and laptop stickers in their bags. I sit on the train answering the questions of the white hair man across the aisle, wonder what I am proving by getting off the futon on a Friday.
THINGS TO READ THIS WEEKEND: