I noticed myself really venerating mid-30 to early 40 somethings lately. More specifically old punks that wear running shoes to ease there soar backs. Ride a rusty huffy to the tattoo apprentice gig that seemed really cool before their hair line started to raise. Drink light beers at pool halls. Complain about crime. Wear the same outfits they'd sport in their twenties, but modified in that they're cleaner. Own dogs with cute girl names ,and listen to Delta blues, because fuck the Cromages, you know, sell-outs....

This is largely due to the fact that I'm barreling towards that venerable pantheon of punks in retirement. Recently I've indulged in the delusion that I'll be the one that doesn't look like he won't let-it-go. We know that guy, tight jeans and PBR, moshing with 17 year olds in between back bending sessions of catching one's breath. I'm slowley realizing, however that after a day of chasing the financing dragon while watching things on your body droop and/or disappear, scrolling through pictures of your college years on the facebook, where you can't help but feel old and creepy, by the way what's up with your friend's recently 18 year old cousin hitting on you? One feels that the best recourse is to crash into the old faithful debauchery of your youth, while it's still in the periphery.
bigger version of comic