Men with beards and the women who love them

The menu read all smashed, all Super Salad with Acai.

The coffee was a sour roast, the type of inhouse shit I hate.

The men were bearded, staff and customers. 

They postured and peacocked against well placed mirrors – 

Those wall lengthers, adjacent to the stools with no footing. 

The stools people try for a moment while surveying the room for another option. 

The women looked, by old sexist descriptors, bookish. 

They read peer reviewed journals and ordered second coffees. 

While their bearded blokes practiced silence.

They were underwhelming in their ironically simple cardigans. 

I gazed over an undersized table at my devoted wife. 

She was sipping fresh juice through a waxed paper straw. 

I texted her the title of my next blog and she smiled knowingly: 

Men with beards and the women who love them. 

Post hipster uber hipsterism is the new next. 

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