that's me

"that's me"

he said both into the phone and at me. it was a one of those 'last night's party' books that are a photo journal of the exploits of hipster douchebaggery.

his photo looked nothing like him.

the background was just plain black and he was standing there in the center, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and giant white-framed sunglasses covering his dilated pupils.

"you're famous now"

i said. he just kept tapping his finger at himself on the page and starting calling someone else.

i continued my fruitless search for a book by Benjamin Guedel, an artist even powell's world of books hadn't heard of.

thank god for amazon.