It's getting more and more difficult to tell you apart from the real hipsters. You're so desperate to be accepted by the new people around you that you're willing to reject old friends. We've practically transgressed to just being housemates. I took you in, now you're trying to push me out. You constantly have to one up everybody with your "new" old clothes you bought at the over priced thrift store. I'm tired of the insults thrown my direction one day, then a compliment the next. Head fucking has become your pastime. You act like the biggest hotshot west of 23rd now. Maybe it's your new part time job that's gotten to your head. Costumers feed your god complex because they need that fix. I admittedly have a shit job but at least I'm not a bitch about it. You have one you love yet are a bitch and a half. Using your privileged silver spoon to stir people's orders. Shuffling your 90s rap laden iPod in between servings. You forget who gave you all that. You're the only person I know who actually likes NPRs music reviews, which you use to deviate from conversations you can't comprehend. Maybe it's your thin skin that made you change. All those times I consoled you in the past. Guess I have to accept that people change. Too bad you turned into a fake, backstabbing buddy fucker.