Thursday, January 22, 2015
They are on a bed-bug-ridden futon in a converted loft in an abandoned paint factory in Greenpoint. The air reeks of heavy metals, soy candles, and multiple unframed college degrees that were loving letter-pressed on unbleached recycled paper. A thin wail issues from dying solar-powered iPhone dock speakers, the indie tweehards MGMT doing an ironic cover of Justin Beiber song bootlegged from an all-ages show. She touches his limp penis. He brushes against her giant pubic retro-bush. Simultaneously, they both hitch with a sob and rush off to update Twitter. This is the most successful sexual encounter either have ever experienced.