Today, after getting a haircut at Rudy’s, I headed down to Bauhaus where I sat and read the new issue of the Stranger.
When I was finished, I looked up at the people lounging around. At least two-thirds of them had a copy of the Stranger open in front of them. I looked over at the newspapers piled up next to the cash register. There were three neat stacks of Strangers – each at least four feet tall.
I was bemused to have validated what I’ve suspected all along: I’m a cliché.