The open-air flea market was flush that day. You picked up a few Herb Alpert records, a Frankenberry T-shirt, a crocheted hat made out of purple yarn and Old Style cans (later that night on the rooftop you called this “folk art” and we all nodded in agreement), a vintage bike bell, and a pair of sweet Phitover sunglasses.
You couldn’t believe your score. Everyone was wearing Phitovers that summer and Walgreens couldn’t even keep them in stock. Most people wore new ones, crisp black boxes slid over black-framed nerd glasses. A few adventurous souls wore the “As Seen On TV” amber-lensed version, which promised to give “HD Vision.” But yours were different. They stood out, with their frames smudged and worn down by the gnarled fingers of some nameless nonagenarian. They reeked of stale Pall Malls and Ben Gay, but you didn’t wash them off; they were perfect as they were. Authentic. What made those scratches on the side? A bad spill down the stairs, or more general use? You thought with envy of all the items that must have rattled around alongside them in that old lady’s purse. Every one of those items would look well dench on your nightstand.
But listen up, Salvador: The time has come to take a walk past the nursing home and leave those things sitting on a retaining wall. You have a burden riding on your face, and we’re not talking about your trash-stash, which is coming along nicely by the way. Options include laser eye protection and most groovy, Inuit-style snow goggles made with roadkill bone.
At this point, wearing Phitovers is like wearing a pair of novelty glasses from a 2002 New Year’s Eve party. Actually, scratch that. Those would be pretty sweet.