It’s a Sunday, and all of the Sarah
Lawrence kids are camped out on the MacBook Airs their parents got them (literally,
there are five laptops in the coffee shop, and all of them are Macs). There is not a single seat available in the
place.
Then these two girls come in. One wearing old army fatigues
with East German patches (cause, you know, Democracy is dead and all that shit),
the other looking like an extra from Saved By the Bell – bright red glasses, over-sized bow in her hair, old canvas backpack that was all the rage in the millennium
that was (you know, the kind with the draw strings that never stay closed and the flap that rests lazily over the top).
They order coffee; a quiche for one, a muffin for the other. They are preparing to hunker down. But there are still no seats available.
Two things
quickly become apparent: One, that they don’t know how to react to this, the smallest
morsel of adversity, and two, they want someone to pay attention to this, their
overwhelming plight, to solve this impossible problem for them.
