Love is a Battlefield AKA The Greatest Story Ever Told

Remember when we were young and we had that big fight with our parents and they were all “if you leave this house now etc” and so we waved goodbye to our kid brother through the window and took a bus from our small town to The City? Remember the men in the city? Their muscles when they bumped into us? Our father was a butcher or something, maybe a grocer? He wore an apron. Our mother worried. We wrote home sometimes, not to them, but to Billy. We made up stories about The City and had him promise to stay in school. Billy was a good kid. We didn't want him to end up like us. We wrapped ourselves in rags and dishtowels and found work as dime-a-dance girls in a place with low lights and a seedy boss who stared at us over the glint of his gold front tooth. We were tired all the time. We were barely making it. We draped over each other in heaps. The boss was taking deep cuts. He was taking liberties. We were sick of dancing his way. We took a stand...

Heartache to heartache, amirite?

Generation Catalano

"This urge to define generations is also about a yearning for a collective memory in an increasingly atomized world, at least where my generation is concerned. Indeed, where the Millennials tend to define themselves in terms of the way they live now, people in my cohort find fellowship more in what happened in the past, clinging to cultural totems as though our shared experiences will somehow lead us to better figure out who we are."

Not sure if this argument  is completely sound, but Jordan Catalano!

Can I get a microgenerational fist bump, here?