BEING QUEENS BOULEVARD

Unfortunately for you, you probably saw the subject line and thought I was going to go into something semi interesting and engrossing (or you were confused as fuck depending on the amount of HBO you watch). This unfortunately is a great accomplishment on my part of misdirection. The following will talk about what it takes outside of acumen and fervor to kick open double doors, beater stretched over with spinner necklace dangling all with a twice glazed look and a puzzling smile which says to the audience of malcontents that you don't need claps, handshakes or even that quick reassuring glance for approval. You are here to be a lunatic and enter a realm outside of any water cooler conversation. You are here because even though you forgot your ID you still got on to the plane using your Steamboat Season Pass, Insurance Card, and rhetoric. You are here screaming like a dusted homeless guy and the red paint from the town is dripping on your hands as you enter your fourth bar. You are here for Simple Man, Chimay White, and the step closer to owning your own glass complete with "JOO" engraving. You are here to add a sprinkle of idiocricy to a once calm and yet seemingly pretentious Sunday Brunch because your drink of choice is much stronger then those who dine off $1.50 Mimosas....and your choice of garb is 'slightly' off. You are here because in your jaded mind there is not a fucking person in eyesight who is immersing themselves in the oyster popping fun that is a Saturday night. You are here because you simply like being here. You might not always be here, this is true. But you will always be Queens Boulevard.