Brooks

I ran into Brooks, wearing an all-brown ensemble, and I accused him of try to dress "like Mr. Hanky." To Brooks' great credit, he indicated that, when he wears all brown, what he's trying to imply to the observer is that "that's what you're getting from me today: shit." I immediately felt a kinship to Brooks, but I predict that my attempts to befriend him, cheerily rebuffed thus far, will end in resentment and tragedy. Brooks is so cool that I bet he mistakes my tomfoolery for uncoolness. I reality I'm the coolest cat in town. I'm so cool that I don't care how uncool I appear. At the end of this night, Brooks jumped onto his racing bike and sped off into the night, becoming a brown smudge of movement, and I walked home to plot my outfit for the next day, which will surely turn out to be another mistake in a series of mistakes, honed and perfected to a brown smudge of movement - yesterday, today, and the next.