Tears Are Not Enough

Somewhere in Silverlake, a girl with legwarmers, huge plastic earrings and a cleverly assymetrical striped skirt is crying. Somewhere in Echo Park, a boy with shaggy hair, a tight Foghat t-shirt and a green down vest is overwhelmed. Somewhere in Hollywood, a group of really coked out musicians who don't quite make a living at it but are really good at mooching off everyone they come into contact with are wondering how they will survive.

Would it surprise you if I said that I was glad about this? I'd be lying. Because I really get a kick out of the magazine and free CDs, which I could always just stroll down the street and grab. I never bought a damn thing there... v-neck argyle sweaters with puffy sleeves and random patches weren't my thing, nor were pleated cordorouy skirts in neon green with scraps of denim hanging from the hem. You get my drift.

Besides, my roommate and I had a party once and the Vice store was having one the same night, and so they crashed and trashed us. It turns out this made us "cool." I know this, because an uberhip photographer was there taking scenester pix for the local rags.

So we had to deal with people like this:


And this:


So, yea. Bye Vice store!